


Start to Sink

by coolasdicks



Series: Empath!AU [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Empath!Michael, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, empath!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael finds out he's an empath after a stressful convention goes bad, but a new worry soon develops and suddenly its not just Michael's health on the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start to Sink

**Author's Note:**

> kill....me.... but seriously, shout out to chu and naomi for helping me get through this fucking monster. do you know how hard it is to re-read 24k over and over again????
> 
> Edit: now with a playlist: http://8tracks.com/bananas-in-pajamas/we-ve-hit-the-iceberg-now-we-re-starting-to-sink
> 
> shoutout to randomspicuous for throwing it together!

It didn’t start at any particular time.

He’d probably say it was when he moved to Texas, but even that wasn’t really it. The headaches, the mood swings – even the way in which his emotions were _felt_ was different. More intense, wildly temperamental. Michael often thought of it as someone placing a magnifying glass over his brain, causing each and every emotion to be acutely sharpened and usually stronger than what the situation called for.

Needless to say, he rolled with it. This thing he’d grown into here, this awkward, fumbling, polyamorous relationship with five men was his home, and he never felt better than when he was with them. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so completely, so utterly _content._

On the other hand, there were certain times he never remembered feeling so fucking _terrible,_ so goddamn lousy and depressed and miserable, where everything that went wrong was just another failure in his life and every word spoken was laced with poison and every touch was stitched with knives. It terrified Michael knowing that his temperament varied so widely, but luckily the bad times were few and far between. He seldom worried about them, because their relationship was rarely on such rocky ground.

But other instances were oddly amplified, too.

Some were not quite as well-timed as others.

“It’s almost noon,” Gavin said, and Michael was pretty sure everyone’s patience shriveled even further into a small, wrinkly mass. It had to be the sixth or seventh time he’s said the aggravating words.

“Yes,” Geoff said shortly, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I realize that.”

“We’re still driving,” Gavin said slowly.

“Good observation.”

“We’re not there yet?”

“Does it _look_ like we’re there yet?” Jack said, gesturing to the flat layers of wheat fields through the car windows. “There’s not a building for at least another twenty miles.”

Michael rubbed his aching temples as Gavin huffed, the Brit crossing his arms and elbowing Michael in the process. Ray’s similar grunt of pain was heard from the other side of Gavin and Michael knew he’d been rudely poked in the ribs as well.

“But it’s almost noon,” Gavin said, a definite whine growing in his tone.

Having no patience for such an aggravating sound, Michael didn’t hesitate to roughly shove Gavin away from him, probably squishing Ray in the process but feeling no regret. “Gavin, shut the fuck up,” Michael snapped, and just to punish the Brit a little, he kicked at his legs, too.

“Ouch!” Gavin yelled, clutching at his leg and sending Michael a glare. “What’s wrong with _you_? You’ve been in a right mood ever since we left.”

“Are you just physically incapable of shutting your fat, stupid mouth, or does it just make you feel better to share the misery?” Michael growled. He paused in the middle of pushing Gavin away to scrub at his sore, throbbing eyes, wishing they were just there already so he didn’t have to be stuck here in this damn metal box with five irritable men.

“God, Michael,” Gavin quietly hissed, returning to his original position, albeit more cautiously. “You’re a real prick today.”

Michael didn’t reply, mostly because he knew it was true. He’d left the house in a bad mood, similar to Geoff, who he knew wasn’t looking forward to this long drive. The tattooed man’s bad attitude rubbed off on Michael as they were getting packed, and now Michael was ready to bite off everyone’s head. His boyfriends, save for Gavin, wisely avoiding talking to him directly.

Michael glared out the window at the rolling blue skies. He didn’t even understand why they were going to Dallas in the first place – Dallas fucking _sucked._ Stupid and homophobic, the smelly city was definitely not where Michael wanted to spend his weekend.

He had to repeatedly remind himself that they were going for a convention, something required of them. It was only a few days – and really, Michael had nothing to complain about. At least he wasn’t going alone. This way, he had the company of his boys.

As Gavin continued to whine the rest of the way there, however, Michael had trouble seeing how that was a ‘bright side’.

\---

Reaching the hotel was like breathing in fresh air after spending a day with a group of heavy smokers.

Maybe he was a shithead for practically bolting from the car, leaving the five others to sort out the luggage in the trunk, but Michael had begun to feel ill half an hour ago, head feeling as if someone was taking a screwdriver to all the soft spots on his skull. He took refuge in the clean, crisp air of the rather fancy hotel, stumbling in the door and gulping in oxygen.

Running over to a small water dispenser, his hands shook as he wrestled a paper cup from the stack and filled it with icy liquid, the small ounce of water leaving a scorching trail down his throat. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but the heavy breathing and trembling hands weren’t exactly normal. He felt his forehead with the back of his hand, but instead of being warm with a fever, he was cold and clammy to the touch.

Feeling like a baby, Michael angrily crumpled up the paper cup and violently threw it into the trashcan, shaking his head. He wasn’t even nervous – it was Jack who was the fucking anxiety-ridden fool about this stupid con. Michael just felt like someone had dealt a heavy blow to his stomach and maybe a light kick to the head as well.

He heard the jingle of the doors to the hotel opening and Michael glanced over his shoulder to see Ryan struggling through the entrance carrying two, fully packed duffle bags, one of which Michael recognized as his own. Face flushing in shame, Michael rushed over to pluck it from the blonde’s arms, grinning at the relieved sigh he got in return.

“Did you have to piss or something?” Ryan asked, hefting the other bag over his shoulder. He held the door open for Geoff and Jack as they crab-walked in, the awkward shuffle required to fit the next rather large bags through the doorway. Gavin and Ray waltzed in looking smug about their light packing.

“Yeah,” Michael said carelessly, waving his hand.

Ray gave him an annoyed glance. “Why didn’t you go one of the sixteen times Gavin had us stop at a gas station?” he said with a glare at the Brit.

“Four of which were purely for snacking purposes,” Jack added sourly, watching Geoff as the tattooed man checked them into their rooms.

Walking away from the counter, Geoff grumbled under his breath, and Michael was the only one to hear it. He gawked at the older man, the duffle bag dropping onto the floor when he let go of the handle in shock. “Three in each room?” he asked in disbelief. The feeling was mirrored in the two lads behind him. “Are you serious?”

“It’s how Gus booked it,” Geoff growled, unhappy about how his friend had set that up. He rolled his eyes and started to walk in the direction of the elevator. “Not my fault he knows.”

“Him knowing we’re dating doesn’t mean he should book us all together,” Jack said doubtfully. Gavin pushed his hand out of the way in order to press the button first and Ray smirked at Gavin’s smug, nostril-flared face.

“Take it up with him,” Geoff said, shrugging. He was clearly resigned to sharing a room with two of the others, but Michael’s fists balled up.

“That’s not fair!” he said heatedly. “You get to be with Ryan and Jack, but I get _Gavin._ That’s not even _slightly_ fair!”

“Take it up with Gus,” Geoff restated, giving Michael a side-glare. Michael could feel the tension coming off the tattooed man in waves, and for once, he didn’t argue. His head was pounding too loud in his ears, colors seeming to vibrate off the walls. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a seizure as he followed the rest of the boys onto their floor, lagging a bit behind.

Their rooms were next to each other, and Geoff was in such a bad mood that he wasn’t even smug when he handed Michael the key to the lads’ room. Michael handed it off to a rather confused Ray, unsure if he’d be able to aim well enough to get the key in the lock, and watched bitterly when the gents disappeared into their nice, quiet room.

To his credit, Gavin was fairly subdued when they got into the room. Not many words were shared, definitely not on Michael’s part when the redhead simply collapsed onto his bed, forgoing undressing and choosing to just deal with it in the morning. It was only around seven in the evening, but Michael was drained. His eyelids slid shut without much complaint.

“Michael, c’mon, you promised to share beds,” Ray whined into his ear not even fifteen seconds later.

Michael’s gut churned. “No,” he moaned into the bedspread, the one-word response slurred. “I’m bigger, I get my own bed.”

Ray huffed and probably said more, but the waves were back to pounding against Michael’s eardrums. His head throbbed, filling his cheeks and jaw and teeth with agony, and he reached blindly for a pillow and slammed it over his head, pulling it down on each side so he was blocking himself from view. He heard Ray and Gavin’s voice float over his head a few times, but only when a warm hand was placed on his shoulder did he realize they were talking to him.

“Michael, what are you doing?” he heard Gavin ask, the Brit clearly amused.

“Sleeping,” Michael grumbled, voice muffled in the bedspread.

The hand disappeared. “It’s like seven thirty,” Ray said, unimpressed. “Get up, we have to go over and make plans with Geoff, Ryan, and Jack for tomorrow.”

Michael’s stomach seemed to crawl up into his ribcage at the idea. Biting his lip, he decided to take the coward’s way out and truthfully said, “I don’t feel good.”

He could feel Ray’s hesitation. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just fucking tired,” Michael sighed into the bed. He wasn’t sure if Ray even heard him, but just then his hearing went fuzzy. Frowning slowly, he forced himself to pull the pillow off his head. He stared around in confusion, the room empty and the windows now dark with night, while they’d just been light not two minutes ago.

He looked at the clock.

10:38PM.

\---

He woke up feeling like someone was grasping his intestines in an iron grip and trying to pull them out through his belly button. Instinctively reaching for one of the many warm bodies he was used to having pressed up against his own, he was startled and a little upset to find nothing but cold sheets under searching fingers. His slit open his eyes, muscles seeming to curdle at the bright light pouring in through the windows, and looked around, belatedly realizing that they weren’t at home – right. Dallas. Hotel room.

Michael groaned and fell back against the bed, clutching his head and tearing at his hair. He cursed quietly at himself for a solid five minutes, keeping it low so that he didn’t wake the two sleeping boys just feet from him, before dragging himself from the uncomfortable, scratchy sheets and to the pile of luggage thrown carelessly into the corner. Raiding Ray’s bag, Michael was relieved to find a small bottle of Aspirin and quickly took two, anxious to have this pounding headache gone before the convention started.

No such luck.

Michael really wasn’t surprised.

His smile was shaky and weak at best, if not just flat out looking like a post-stroke smirk. His fingers trembled as he signed multiple items, some fans commenting on it and a few even suggesting he drink some water. Michael laughed and thanked them for the concern, but really. He was fine. His hand was trembling because it was hard to sign your name so many times in a row – no, no, he was _fine –_

“Go take a breather.”

Michael looked up, jumping slightly when he realized he’d been downright glaring at a poster he was supposed to be signing. A guardian of the con, a big burly guy with a tattoo under his left eye, was staring down at him with his hands on his waist. He had a white beard that was almost as long as Jack’s and his eyes were just as stern. Glancing back at the line of fans waiting their turn, Michael shook his head at the guy.

“There’s not that much longer, I can do a few more,” Michael said, hastily scribbling his name and shaking the hand of the young girl who’d been waiting for God knows how long –

“There’s still five hours left. Go take a break, drink some water, and then come back,” the man said, and Michael had to admit that it sounded tempting. His eyes were ready to roll out of their sockets.

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, forcing his eyes to refocus so he could give the guardian a grateful look. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back.”

Standing up from the small table, Michael apologized to the next person in line and excused himself, stomach curling and twisting in his gut. Feeling as if his brain was bouncing against his skull with every step, Michael stumbled to the large black doors labeled clearly, _Personnel Only_ and leaned against the wall on the other side, the hallway leading to the back section of the building empty.

It wasn’t dehydration. He’s had that before; a few years ago at summer camp with his brother he’d forgotten to drink water for a day, and it hadn’t felt nearly this terrible. Ever since, he made sure to keep fully hydrated, and even now he had a water bottle in his possession. Taking a shaky sip, he lost his grip around the plastic and it fell out of his hands, colliding with the floor. A large puddle of liquid quickly began spreading, soaking his shoes.

“God fucking dammit,” he cursed, dropping to his knees and taking a steadying breath when his vision blurred.

“Michael? What are you doing?”

The voice seemed distant and rather tinny, but Michael managed to recognize it as Gavin’s questioning tone. He looked around, confused as to where the Brit was before jumping when a hand lightly landed on his shoulder.

“I’m cleaning up this water,” Michael said, and as if to demonstrate, he plucked the now empty water bottle from the ground and showed it to Gavin, who looked confused.

“It’s been twenty minutes. Were you locked out?”

Michael stared at him in bewilderment. “It’s only been like two,” he grumbled, struggling to his feet. He had to lean a hand against the wall to prevent him from toppling over, closing his eyes against an intense wave of lightheadedness. Worried he might vomit all over his boyfriend, Michael swallowed thickly and said, “I dropped my water.”

“So I see,” Gavin said slowly. He weaved a hand through Michael’s arm and pulled the redhead away from the wall, Michael going without complaint. “I don’t think you’re drinking enough. Or–does your stomach hurt? Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. He could tell Gavin was frustrated with his vague answer, so he paused and added, “Yes, I ate breakfast. I ate it with you, remember?”

“Michael,” Gavin lightly scolded. “Then you’re hydrated, you silly idiot. I thought you knew how this worked.”

Michael crinkled his nose and pulled his arm away from Gavin’s, sending the Brit a glare. “I _do_ know how this works. I’ve had like seven water bottles in the past four hours.”

He clearly didn’t believe Michael. “Then what’s wrong with you?” Gavin asked skeptically.

“Nothin’,” Michael grunted, rolling his eyes and groaning when Gavin once more tried to lead him back to the main doors. His stomach dropped in apprehension at the thought of having to sit alone at that small, cramped booth for the next three hours. “I’m tired.”

“You fell asleep at seven thirty last night,” Gavin reminded him and pushed the doors open. Significantly hotter air blasted Michael in the face and he thought he might actually puke.

Leaning heavily against his boyfriend, Michael watched with faint amusement as colors and shapes danced in his blurred vision, the edges dulling until becoming indistinct. Gavin was talking in his ear, and maybe shaking him too, but Michael was fine with just watching the pretty colors pulse and spin, designs he’d never seen before blooming in the center, in the corners.

He closed his eyes when a sudden wave of anxiety rushed into him, filling the spaces in his brain and forcing the air from his lungs. His feet were floating off the ground, arms somewhere at his sides, and his mouth was stuffed with cotton. It didn’t die down, but Michael slowly became accustomed to it and blinked open bleary eyes.

He was no longer in front of the _Personnel Only_ doors, now sitting behind an unfamiliar booth that was encased in concern–what?

“If you’re just going to sit there, at least hand me some of the shirts,” a voice said jokingly. Geoff was looking at him with a grin, but Michael could see something very un-funny lingering in his gray gaze. His tattooed hand was stuck out, waiting, and it took Michael a solid five seconds to process the words.

Movements robotic, he reached behind him and grabbed a stack of tee shirts of varying colors and sizes, handing them to Geoff wordlessly. His heart was hammering in his chest, brain reeling. How did he get there? Where was Gavin?

“What time is it?” was the question that finally managed to squeak out. Geoff looked surprised he’d spoken.

“Uh–it’s almost four. Quarter till.”

Michael’s brow furrowed in confusion, the skin of his face chilled when the blood drained from it. Standing up, he swayed before steadying himself against the booth’s wall. Geoff watched him with befuddlement, clearly growing worried.

“Uh – ” Michael said, rubbing his eyes and meekly attempting to think through the muddle in his mind. Feeling as though the thoughts were emerging from a thick layer of mud, Michael said, “Which way is my booth?”

“You’re done for the day,” Geoff said, turning around and handing a guardian something. A few fans came up to the booth, all smiles and pictures, and when they were gone, Geoff glanced at Michael over his shoulder, the redhead having frozen where he stood. “Sit back down, Michael, you look sick. If you puke on the merchandise, we can’t sell it.”

“Or maybe we could, for a large price,” Ray said, grinning as he strode into the booth with his arms stacked full of shirts.

“I dunno,” Ryan said thoughtfully, having walked up next to the younger. “I don’t know if he has enough fans for that.”

Michael gave them a weak glare, but listened to Geoff’s original words and plopped back onto his butt, the seat warm from where he’d been sitting for what felt like hours, if his stiff joints were any indication.

Michael watched lifelessly as Ray and Ryan continued to talk, whether it was to themselves or to Michael, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even try to follow the conversation, even when Jack and Gavin arrived.

The Brit made a beeline for Michael, an odd mix of worry and anger written across his face. Michael looked up at him with a weak smile.

He almost lost his vision completely when Gavin slapped him upside the head, pain branching like lightning into his brain. _Okay,_ Michael thought as he rubbed the back of his skull. _Maybe I need to say something. This isn’t normal._

“Donut,” Gavin huffed. “You made me cover for you! Do you know how hard that is to do when hundreds of fans – ”

“Gavin, he doesn’t feel good,” Ray interrupted in a scolding tone. “It was only a few hours, geez.”

Gavin mumbled something under his breath. He looked surprised when Michael abruptly stood, unsteady on his feet but determined.

Thinking it was a stomach problem, he clutched at his gut, though admittedly it was currently his head that was the issue. Apparently Gavin mistook this as Michael actively vomiting, because the Brit squawked and flew across the booth at lightning speed, colliding with Jack.

_Too much, too much._

Emotion, unfamiliar and _not his own_ , surged inside of him as if a dam had broken; frustration, anxiety, confusion, and even slight anger flooded his brain, driving white hot nails into his temples. Flashes of agony ripped through his neurons, causing his vision to go white. He could feel the pads of his hands slipping and sliding along the tarp separating the booths until they collided with the tile flooring of the convention center, an unpleasant shockwave rippling up his arms and knees as he landed on the floor with blunt impact. Struggling to regain his sense of balance, he felt his neck muscles spasm and relax, unable to keep his head up and allowing it to bow.

“Michael!” voices cried, but they were lost to the redhead. If anything, their concern only made it worse by bubbling up even closer to the surface. Panic, foreign on his tongue and sharp against his throat, was thick and rolling in his head – he couldn’t feel his body, the skin having gone utterly numb as he suffered through what must’ve been a panic attack or _something_ because Michael never experienced something like this before.

Despite not being able to feel or correctly process his own thoughts, his other senses were perfectly intact. He could hear himself making pathetic noises, gasps and weak whimpers falling from his mouth without any conscious effort. Lights were bursting behind his eyelids, fractal patterns fazing into bright reds and oranges, the images burned into his retinas.

Odd sensations of pressure shifted against his flesh in rather strange places: his cheek, his upper arm, his back, his wrist, and even the left side of his hip. He wasn’t sure what was happening at those spots on his body, but he was more preoccupied with his spinning head.

Something seemed to snap.

Being so disorientated, Michael was surprised to be able to make the distinction between physical and mental, but he was positive his brain had just broken. Into one, two, three, or six pieces he wasn’t sure. It was blissful peace, abrupt and washing over him in a powerful rip, allowing his mind to finally drift away from the madness.

The last thing he felt was a long, relieved sigh escaping his lungs.

*

Michael was unfortunate enough to be diagnosed while his boyfriends were in the room with him.

He went through the doctor’s questions with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was like that damn game _20 Questions_ where once one oddly specific question was answered with a yes and the ones that came next followed a suspicious line down to the doctor’s final smirk and nod. His boyfriends shifted nervously behind him, and Gavin’s leg bouncing up and down was beginning to get on Michael’s nerves.

“Well,” Dr. West said, clipping his pen to the notepad. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“Nothing serious?” Ray burst, unable to hold back his question. He looked anxious to have the doctor’s attention but was desperate for an answer and stared back with determination.

“Nothing physical is wrong with him,” West answered with a shake of his head. The answer made Michael’s irritation skyrocket, the redhead already on edge and just ready for some answers.

“We don’t need a fucking riddle, what caused it?” Michael snapped, fingers digging into the paper covering the medical table where he sat. His boyfriends were only faintly embarrassed at his bluntness, sharing his annoyance and apprehensiveness too much to reprimand him.

The doctor glanced to the rest of the boys in the room before settling on Michael. He bent over and set his notepad on the tile floor. He got more comfortable in his chair and leaned back, crossing his knee with his ankle and gazing at Michael thoughtfully. The allusion of professionalism was gone, and with it went a sliver of Michael’s nerves. The doctor watched him mirror the relaxation and smiled.

“It’s mostly psychological. Your brain chemistry is altered slightly, causing your firing neurons to behave just a _little_ different than how they would in the average person. There’s nothing to be concerned about – this is actually a fairly common phenomenon. You’ve probably heard of it – _Partem nexus,_ or empathism.”

Michael had never heard the words in his life. His blank stare made the doctor laugh, but he could feel the guys’ sudden tension thicken behind him. Obviously they knew what it meant, and it made Michael’s hands ball up into tight fists to be the only person who wasn’t aware of what the fuck was wrong with him.

“I have no idea what that is,” Michael said through tightly gritted teeth, struggling to maintain his grip on his sanity.

As soon as the words left his mouth, however, an odd and seemingly random sense of calm seeped into the edges of his mind and washed gray the bright, red streaks of his anger. Without turning to look at his boyfriends, from the buzzing in the back of his brain Michael knew it was their presence in his mind – a presence that had always been so kind and comforting to him. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, knowing he probably looked like a complete and utter psychopath, with heavy bags beneath his tired eyes and a sickly pallor. Not to mention he was swinging like a pendulum between a multitude of differing emotions, as he’d been doing since waking up in the local Dallas hospital.

When Michael opened his eyes, he saw that the doctor had been studying him closely during his silent freak out. Staring back at him guiltily, Michael muttered a hasty, “Sorry.”

“Do you have episodes like that often?” the doctor asked.

“Episodes?” Michael said blankly, shaking his head as he rubbed at his aching temples. The pain relieving pills he’d been prescribed weren’t doing shit, the constant headache only relieved when he fell asleep, and even then he dread waking up to experience another attack.

“Yes, episodes,” West said. “You’re an empath, Mr. Jones. All of your symptoms are common among undiagnosed empaths.”

“That’s not… that’s not possible,” Michael whispered, but even as he denied it he could feel the pressure on the edge of his consciousness, five distinct swirls of complex emotion and thoughts. It was unintelligible to him and Michael had a feeling it would be forever, but he could roughly translate the vague _feel_ he got from each one. His fingertips seemed to go numb as he fidgeted, acutely aware of the combined stares of his boyfriends and the doctor boring a hole into his head.

“I’ll let you digest this alone for a moment,” West said, standing up and taking his clipboard with him as he walked to the door. “But you should know… it’s not a bad thing. A lot of patients are–well– _excited_ to be abnormal. It’s the closest thing to mind-reading that we’ll probably ever come is to be able to sense emotions and even broadcast our own such as you can. This isn’t bad news, Mr. Jones.”

And with that ringing, dramatic statement, he slipped from the room, leaving the rest of them in an uncomfortable silence. Michael’s head was spinning, but this time it was all him. Shock, disbelief. _Horror._

“This is good news,” Gavin said, rather emptily. Michael glanced back at him reflexively, but the Brit wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring up at Geoff. “It’s not anything serious –”

“Anything serious?” Michael whispered, all eyes instantly on him. He could fucking _feel_ their surprise at his barely suppressed anger. “Not anything _serious_? I’m – I’m not even human –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ray said sharply. “Of course you’re human. Empaths aren’t a different species, Michael.”

“At least this explains a lot,” Ryan offered awkwardly in the sudden silence. “It’s certainly not _bad_ news, Michael. It’s a little… surprising, but it’s not something that requires surgery or is life threatening.”

“Gee, thanks,” Michael said coldly, trying to blink back tears of frustration. He was not usually such an easy crier, but he figured he deserved a little leniency right now–it wasn’t just his emotions he was dealing with anymore. He could feel the others’ fear and confusion bubbling around his edges, crawling in through the cracks and leaking into his own mind. Having trouble distinguishing between his emotions and his lovers’, he had to pause every few seconds to adjust.

There was a long silence as they slowly mulled over the idea and implications. It hadn’t connected earlier, but Michael _had_ heard of the Empathetic disorder. Empaths weren’t a rare thing, but they’d only recently come to public knowledge. About fifty years ago, the movement shed light on their existence and while they hadn’t been well-received at first, now they were more or less a social abnormality. It was hard to discriminate against something that wasn’t so easily seen, as empaths were no visually different than any other person. Michael didn’t know any – except himself.

“Mr. Jones?”

Michael raised his head from where it’d been cradled in his hands. The look on the doctors face as he hovered in the doorway gave him a feeling he’d been calling his name for a while now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Michael said quickly, uncrossing his legs from the medical bench and swinging them off the side.

Dr. West looked a little hesitant, but he once more came into the room, shutting the door behind him. He held up a large bottle of pills; not prescription, but something Michael had seen at the pharmacy. “These are for you,” West said, tossing him the bottle. It rattled when it hit his hands. “Should help regulate you. Most children are diagnosed with empathism at a younger age, where they grow up learning to control and sometimes ignore it. You, being well into your twenties, are going to need help. Take those three times a day with every meal. No skipping, so don’t forget. They also help with the headaches, so I don’t think you will.”

Michael nodded numbly, fingers tightening around the white plastic.

“Is there anything we can do?” Geoff asked, speaking for the first time this entire meeting. His brows were furrowed.

“You live with him, correct?” West said, peering at Geoff over the top of his glasses.

“Yeah,” Geoff said awkwardly. The tattooed man was no better at lying than Michael.

“Ever had a migraine?” West said with a grin.

Ray, Gavin, and Ryan all cringed with knowing sympathy, having suffered from the horrible affliction at least once before. Jack and Geoff knew what they were of course, having cared for one of the three at least six separate occasions, but they’d never experienced it themselves. At their clueless expressions, the doctor chuckled.

“Treatment is similar to that,” Dr. West said. “Dim lights. Warm washcloths. There are some risks of brain damage during some of the more extreme attacks, but that’s extremely rare. Regardless, I’m going to write you a list, because while I doubt anything serious will occur, he’s a fairly advanced case and it’s better to be safe than sorry. The main thing you can do is just watch for any of these symptoms and ease him back into a normal schedule. No crowds or high-stress situations, if you can help it, until he’s able to completely shut out strangers’ emotion.”

“Er –” Gavin hesitated, clearly on the verge of saying something. “What about us?” he finally blurted after an awkward lull.

The doctor held up a hand in understanding. “I was just getting to that,” he said, nodding. But instead of explaining further, he looked at Michael, who was having trouble focusing on the conversation. He was distracted by the intense fluctuation of sudden anxiety stemming from the five men behind him. “I believe you’ll be able to answer that. I can see you’re struggling for control – but whose are you feeling the most?”

The answer was ridiculously easy.

“Theirs,” he whispered, shutting his eyes as the emotions of his lovers battered at the barrier of his mind. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each pulse traveling through the thin piece of skull and branching towards his eyes and ears. He gasped as relief suddenly swept in, the pressure against his consciousness abruptly dropping. Stunned, he blinked and dropped his hands from where they’d been clutching at his hair.

“Strangers, like me or the average person on the street, aren’t going to affect you as much as friends and loved ones. The deeper your connection with someone is going to determine how strong their emotions appear to you, regardless of the intensity the owner is feeling. Friends will be… hard, but loved ones, particularly romantic partners, are advised not to engage in any stressful conversations, situations, or physical activities until the patient is regulated.” He cleared his throat. “You’re brain is naturally inclined to pay special attention towards your mate. Even when you’re regulated and back to a normal lifestyle… you’re still going to feel the emotions of your significant other.”

An empty silence filled the room. Michael was grateful he wasn’t a true telepath in that moment, because the words that were probably racing in his boyfriends’ minds were going a mile a minute. Even so, he suspected they were purposefully trying to block off their thoughts from him; there was a suspiciously small amount of fluttering on his mind barrier.

Dr. West seemed oblivious to the sudden tension. “On the other hand, many subjects have reported the company of their wife, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, had a positive effect on their progress and actually sped it up, for various reasons; it was generally because their significant other was encouraging and comforting and the thoughts managed to transfer to the empath.

“However,” he said in a very serious tone. “All brains work differently. Some couldn’t stand the company of their mate and had a stroke in their presence.”

Michael just about choked, glaring at West. “Gee. Thanks for that.”

“You have a strong mind,” he waved off. Directing his next question to the room at large, he said, “Do you have any questions?”

“He’ll… never be able to block us out?” Jack asked, looking pained. Michael bristled slightly with the question.

“In all reported cases, no.”

“What about before this, then?” Geoff demanded suddenly. “Could he always – feel us –?”

“Yes,” the doctor said, nodding. “Empaths are born with this ability as a result of their altered brain chemistry. My guess is that it was just a high-stress situation that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.” There was a pause where everyone chewed over this new information. “No more questions?”

Michael shook his head dumbly, starkly aware that the others were very carefully monitoring their own emotions.

“Okay!” Dr. West said happily. “Then we can proceed to checking you out.”

*

The pills must’ve been laced with sedatives or something stronger.

The moment they hit Michael’s stomach, the barrier seemed to bellow out, pushing away foreign emotions, like those of the receptionist’s or like the lady who handed him the sign out forms. They dulled Michael’s, too, a pleasant buzz settling heavy over his eyelids as he practically fell asleep in the car. He’d been placed in the far back of Geoff’s van, having basically passed out while Jack had taken care of his checkout. Carried to the car by Ryan was a nice experience – the blonde’s mind was peaceful and sound, and those emotions were noticeably reflected on Michael, who hummed in happiness and nestled into his arms.

He vaguely registered the sensation of hands in his hair, adjusting his head so that it was pillowed on someone’s lap – right. He was stealing both Gavin and Ray’s seat. He felt a little bad about it, but ultimately decided that he couldn’t really move anyway. So instead, he snuggled into the warmth presented to him, relishing the feel of a hand carding through his curls and occasionally coming down to brush at his nose or lips. Judging by how soft the digits were, it was Gavin.

He faded off into content nothingness sometime during the car ride, until he was quite rudely awakened by Gavin dropping him on the floor of the car.

His head hit the metal rails of the chair in the row ahead and instantly his eyes were open and watering in pain.

“Gavin!” two similar exclamations of frustration and anger shouted. Michael felt the Brit’s hands all over his arms, trying in vain to heft him back up.

“Sorry, sorry, Michael,” he was blabbering. Michael’s head stung with Gavin’s regret and he pushed the palm of his hand into his eye with a hiss.

“Ouch,” he grunted, fully awake as he batted one-handedly at Gavin’s grabby hands. “Fucking – did you seriously just drop me?”

Gavin winced, looking apologetic. “Technically, no! I was never carrying you –”

“He tried to stand up and you rolled off,” Jack said with obvious annoyance. He reached across the seats to help Michael sit up fully.

“We’re at the hotel,” Ray added, peering over Jack’s shoulder. “Do you – Do you need a wheelchair or –?”

“No,” Michael scoffed, pushing himself to his feet. He had to crouch to avoid hitting his head but was surprised to find that he was feeling infinitely better. “God, no. I can walk. Do you have my phone and wallet?”

“Ray does,” Jack said with a nod, helping Michael step out of the van with a tight hand around his bicep. Surprisingly steady on his feet, Michael yawned and frowned at the chilly night air, goosebumps dimpling up and down both arms.

“Why is it cold?” he complained, allowing Jack to gently push him inside, large hand on his lower back. He gratefully took his wallet and phone from Ray with a smile. “Thanks, Ray,” he said, slipping both into his jeans pocket.

Gavin appeared on Michael’s right, pushing Ray out of the way to knock shoulders with the redhead. “I didn’t drop you,” he said vehemently.

“Yeah, you fucking stood up and let me roll off!” Michael said, but he was grinning. Damn – those pills were sure doing their job.

“I thought you’d wake up!” Gavin said loudly, looking dismayed that he was being blamed.

“Yeah, the _floor_ woke me up,” Michael said, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his head. There was a small goose egg forming where he’d collided with the metal, but there wasn’t much pain.

Catching him off guard, Gavin wormed a hand around and brought his head closer to press a kiss to his temple in apology. Michael furtively glanced around, face flushed.

“Stop that,” he said hastily, rolling his eyes when Gavin frowned. “Which one’s our room again?”

Ray already had them covered and stopped besides a seemingly random one. But the keycard worked and Michael had never been so thankful to be able to just plunk down on his bed, face first with his arms and legs spread like an eagle.

A gentle hand rested on his lower back. “Did you take the evening one, too?” Ryan quietly asked him.

“The evening what?” Michael mumbled into the sheets, turning his head so that he could better hear Ryan’s melodic voice.

“Great,” came Jack’s distant rumble. “We’re going to have to remind him each time.”

“The pills, Michael,” Ray added, a little more kindly.

“Oh,” Michael said, yawning into the sheets. He didn’t move as he groaned, “No, they’re too far away.”

The rattling bottle hit an inch next to his nose but he didn’t even flinch, instead smiling warmly at the pleasant swirls of bliss and relaxation smothering any sort of instinctual emotions that threatened to rise. The emotions of his boyfriends too were smothered – almost completely, but Michael could still feel the occasional tingle.

Talking enveloped the room, someone smacking someone and heatedly whispering _you almost hit him in the face_ but Michael didn’t and couldn’t pay attention. He started to doze off, the light murmurings of his lovers comforting and putting him at ease.

He only came to when someone tugged insistently at the belt loop on the back of his pants. Blinking open his eyes, he grumbled a sour, “What?”

“Well, first of all, you’re on our bed,” Ray laughed. “And since you were so adamant about not sharing, if you’d be so kind to move to your own, that would be nice.”

Michael felt oddly displeased at that idea and frowned, fingers gripping the sheets as if expecting Ray to forcibly move him. He swallowed, knowing what he wanted to ask but finding the words themselves difficult to say. “Um, can I – ” he said in an uncharacteristically small voice. He changed direction halfway through his sentence shamefully and continued, “Can I just stay here? For tonight?”

There was a pause in which Ray and Gavin exchanged looks, communicating silently. Something fluttered on the edge of his mind, but Michael couldn’t be bothered enough to accurately read what it was. It was gone within seconds.

“Do you want us to take your bed?” Gavin asked. Michael frowned at him, slightly embarrassed. Gavin was trying to make him spell out what he wanted, but whether or not it was to stroke his ego, Michael didn’t know.

“I – I don’t want to move and it’s not worth it, so just,” Michael said, gesturing helplessly. Gavin looked disgruntled but agreed, sliding under the sheets and bumping Michael gently out of the way. The redhead was limp against the mattress, his body feeling light and airy.

As Gavin situated around him, Ray was less than happy with the Brit’s solution. Instead of letting Michael drape across them like a dog at the bottom of the bed, the Puerto Rican took it upon himself to drag the sheets out from under Michael and place them back over his body. Michael hummed and watched with half-lidded eyes filled with amusement. Ray was never very satisfied with half-assing things.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Jack said, shaking his head as he watched Ray remake the bed, now with two snuggling boys under the covers.

“Why are you still here?” Gavin said suspiciously, holding the soft blanket up to his nose and peering at Jack with narrowed eyes. The loud swishing of a toilet flushing was heard before Ryan and Geoff both emerged from the bathroom, Geoff’s cheeks pink and damp with the water he’d been splashing on it. From where he was curled up on the bed, Michael could see heavy bags forming under the tattooed man’s eyes, his hair mussed and messy from going so long without being tended to. Ryan was looking similarly stressed, and just the sight of the two made Michael’s heart clench with guilt. Though the pills were keeping the intrusive emotions at bay, he still remembered experiencing those earlier emotions that had poured off the men, none being positive.

Geoff studied the group, Ray slipping into the pile seamlessly and sandwiching Michael firmly in the middle. As soon as Ray’s heat was added to the warmth, Michael sighed in happiness and closed his eyes, reveling in the sudden flux against his mental bubble. He couldn’t pinpoint who exactly was feeling what, but a soothing calm seeped into the redhead’s mind regardless, the shield around his fragile mind porous and allowing the emotions of his ‘mates’, as Dr. West would put it, to creep in. He couldn’t find it in him to complain at the moment, as the sensation of being wrapped in love, both mentally and physically, was a hard one to deny.

“Are we going back home tomorrow, then?” Ryan asked Geoff in a low murmur. Michael was barely able to follow the quiet conversation.

“Definitely. First thing in the morning,” Geoff said firmly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ending a day early won’t be a problem; Burnie is taking care of it.”

There was a long pause in which Michael started to doze, mind detached and floating freely away from his body. In his mental eye, there were three distinct swirling masses full of dizzying amounts of emotion. They didn’t exactly have color, but Michael could easily identify which mass surrounded who. Geoff’s was feeling particularly tense, long tendrils of stress and anxiety reaching out to the other three and brushing against their edges. Ryan’s was smaller than it should’ve been, and Michael’s sleepy mind realized that he was still tightly controlling his mental aura. Jack seemed to be assuming that since Michael was sleeping peacefully feet away it was fine for him to relax, his own buzzing consciousness spilling over the room.

It was a fascinating world to experience. The pills did a thorough job separating his mind from those of his around him, but his empathic abilities were not so easily quelled. Without the searing, agonizing pain, it was actually very interesting to see his lovers’ emotions, even if it was a cruel invasion of privacy.

The thought made his mind’s eye suddenly pause. It was enough of a disturbance for him to blink open confused, sandy eyes, staring up at the ceiling in befuddlement.

Someone was leaning over the bed, pressing a sweet kiss to Ray’s forehead before leaning over to land a similar one on Michael’s temple. It was Jack, the older man giving Gavin his goodnight kiss before pulling back and shutting off the bedside light.

Jack whispered something to Ray before leaving the room, the words too quietly spoken for Michael to understand. Unease started to drip into Michael’s gut, the source blurring confusedly into the back of his mind as he drifted off to a deep sleep where he didn’t dream.

\---

The arrival home was less than enthusiastic.

Any long car ride with six guys would have been unpleasant on its own, but it was downright torturous while five of the six were trying their best to suppress their thoughts. As Michael curled up in the back seat, sitting as far away from Ray as possible, he clutched at his aching head with tight fingers wound up in his hair.

He had taken his morning medicine, but it didn’t have the same effect as it had the night before. Exhaustion must’ve paired with the drug to drive out the pain and put him to sleep, because now, as he sat wide awake in the car, he felt as if someone was sitting on his head. He was acutely aware of every shifting emotion inside each of his boyfriends, whether it was a constant anxiety emanating out from one of the five bodies or a spark of nostalgia when a familiar song came on the radio. Michael would flinch whenever one of them would jolt out of their thoughts, sharp signals piercing through the air and driving spikes into Michael’s temples.

The emotions were hard to identify sometimes. He was quickly learning that the intensity and the way they were experienced varied greatly between the minds of each. Gavin’s anxiety was more of a faint annoyance, and he expressed it quite noticeably, but Jack’s was a powerful undercurrent of concern, and it wasn’t obvious in the slightest. It spoke volumes about each of his lover’s personality.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somewhat… angry with him. Or maybe not him personally _,_ but his newfound ability. Michael could completely understand – if he knew someone could basically read his mind, he’d be wary of them, too.

As they slowly cruised through their neighborhood, Michael wondered how big of a problem this was. He considered asking aloud, but his headache kept him from doing so, and instead he stewed in his own sulkiness, his sullen attitude leaving the car in a slightly awkward silence.

They got home around eleven. Head throbbing with an annoyingly persistent headache, Michael followed close behind Geoff up the driveway, eager to finally be back home. His temples were lanced with pain a second later, and after wincing, he fell behind the group and lagged after them. Geoff’s ‘aura’, so to speak, was particularly painful to be near.

“I’ll make some food, if anyone’s hungry,” Geoff offered as he unlocked the front door and let them in. Michael edged around him carefully, giving the tattooed man a sheepish smile. Geoff didn’t return it.

Gavin made an enthusiastic noise of agreement as he trailed behind Jack to the kitchen, Ray and Ryan close behind. Michael excused himself to take a leak and for a long five minutes, he calmly stared at his reflection. His mind, over-sensitive and on edge, toyed with eyes by creating a creamy visage in the mirror, his body surrounded with an imaginary aura filled with pulsating colors and flashing lights. He blinked and it was gone.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, shutting off the light and quickly leaving the room. He bumped into Ryan.

“Yeah, you just took like ten minutes to take a piss,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes as he closed the bathroom door.

Michael opened his mouth to apologize, but the words congealed to the sides of his throat, and he just stared after the blonde for a long minute. His brainwaves went flat momentarily before he forced his feet to move.

As soon as he was through the kitchen doorway, a plate was shoved into his hands by Geoff, the tattooed man sporting a deep frown. Michael blinked down at the pile of eggs stacked atop the plate before giving Geoff a similar blank stare.

“Eat that,” Geoff said, pointing at the food.

Put out by Geoff’s words, barked at him like an order, Michael grumbled and sat down at the table, muttering under his breath, “I was gonna anyway…”

He picked and prodded at the mushy pile of soft yellow sludge, his appetite stubbed by the medicine in his system, but he swallowed down a few mouthfuls regardless to appease Geoff, who continued to stare at him expectantly. He glared back as he shoved mouthfuls into his mouth.

“What?” he finally snapped through a full mouth, beginning to feel uncomfortable under Geoff’s intense gaze.

“Taken your pill yet?”

Michael gulped thickly, shifting his gaze to look at the table. “I was gonna after I eat,” he mumbled, wrinkling his nose as he made a face.

“Right,” he heard Ray say in a joking tone. Michael glanced at him, nervously scanning his face. The Puerto Rican seemed a little tired, but he was smiling as he slid into a seat next to Michael’s. “How are you feeling? Any better? You look better.”

“Yeah, actually,” Michael said, nodding. He took another rubbery bite. “Bit of a headache, but I don’t feel like I’m gonna keel over anytime soon.”

It was meant to be a joke, but he felt like stabbing himself when he felt the atmosphere in the room dampen. Annoyed, Michael gritted his teeth and decided to stop skipping around the topic quite so much. It was creating an annoying tension in the air and he feared that the subject would soon turn taboo.

“I can feel that, you know,” he said bluntly, suppressed anger making his voice waver.

“Feel what?” Gavin asked, leaning up against the kitchen cabinets.

“You idiots,” Michael said vaguely, an unwelcomed blush sprouting high on his cheeks. “Your… discomfort, I guess. Stop it,” he added sharply when he felt foreign unease start to creep in. He could tell they were trying to rope themselves off, and their restraint only added another layer of tension. “Stop it,” he said again, trying to keep his hand from gripping the fork too hard.

“What can you feel?” Ryan asked, sitting next to Michael and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. A crease had appeared between his eyebrows and Michael wanted to reach forward himself and smooth it out.

He hesitated, uncomfortably aware that all eyes were on him. He wasn’t experienced with his boyfriends’ emotions enough to know what they were thinking and he wasn’t sure how they were reacting to their situation. “I – I – It’s… just a lot of blah,” Michael said lamely.

“A lot of blah?” Ray said questioningly. “What does that mean?”

“A lot of…” Michael paused, chewing over his thoughts. “It’s like standing in front of one of those big metal fans, but no wind.”

He knew his explanation had done nothing for them, but it was the best he could come up with. Their gaze was still hot and heavy on his back, causing him to shift slowly in his seat, placing his fork on the counter and pushing it away. Wincing at a sharp stab of _something_ from Geoff, Michael quickly stood from his chair.

“It’s exactly like TV,” Michael said. “I – emotions ‘n shit. Nothing like with words but I know that Geoff’s angry with me and I know that Ryan is _burning_ with curiosity.”

Ryan looked embarrassed, his cheeks pinking slightly, while Geoff looked unfazed. Shrugging and looking at his shoes, Ryan said, “I really like this science-y stuff. Sue me.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Still feeling the eyes of every man in the room sitting on his shoulders, he strode to the kitchen cabinets, moved Gavin gently out of the way, and grabbed a glass from the lowest shelf. He hastily snatched a pill and clutched the small tablet in his palm as he poured a large glass of water.

“I’m not angry at you,” Geoff said suddenly. Michael glanced at him and almost smirked at the sight of the tattooed man’s arms crossed over his chest. He looked disgruntled and a little embarrassed. The sudden presence of Jack standing directly behind Geoff gave Michael the feeling that he’d just missed something.

“You’re… not happy,” Michael guessed slowly. He knew he was pushing his boundaries, but Geoff’s behavior irked him. He bit his lip, knowing that he’d guessed wrong again. Whatever Geoff was feeling, it left a bitter, dull impression in Michael’s mind. “Frus–frustration?” he blurted, stuttering slightly as a sharp lace of pain flitted through his temper. He reflexively touched the spot as if it would relieve the pressure.

“Take that, you dope,” Gavin told him, gesturing to his clenched fist. Michael opened it and was surprised to find a small pill in the center. He’d forgotten what he was even doing and rolled his eyes at himself.

“I’m goin’ fucking nuts,” he said through a mouthful of water. He easily downed both the liquid and the pill. “I want to go back to two days ago.”

It was meant as an offhand comment, but he could feel the room dull even further at his words. “Is it always like that?” he wondered aloud, narrowing his eyes at his glass.

“Is what always like what?” Ryan asked.

Michael smirked – and dammit, he wasn’t going to let this ruin his relationship. He was _Michael Jones._ When did he _not_ make jokes? In a strong attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “Are you guys always so sensitive?”

They were obviously surprised at his sudden mood change. He was probably coming off as crazy, switching between sullen thoughtfulness and playful joking, but he waited for them to answer his question before explaining.

“Are we sensitive?” Ryan repeated, sounding confused.

“Yeah, everyone’s like… a girl,” Michael said, waving his hand. “I can feel the stupid _feelings_ you guys have over everything. Like just now – two seconds ago. I said I wanna go back to two days ago and it felt like the room got a little darker.”

They looked genuinely curious but simultaneously confused.

“I didn’t feel anything like that,” Gavin said.

“Yeah, no shit,” Michael said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize you were an empath, too, Gav.”

“Idiot,” Gavin grumbled. “I meant I didn’t feel sad or anything.”

“Okay, well, thanks?” Michael said, shrugging. He didn’t exactly know what to do with that information.

But then everyone else looked just as clueless. An odd feeling stirred in Michael’s stomach. “What?” he said.

Jack glanced around. “I don’t think anyone felt… like that. I didn’t even notice, actually.”

Michael shook his head. “Whatever,” he said, albeit slightly uneasily. A sudden realization occurred to him, high school psychology class loud in his ears. “Okay – well, what I was saying was just that I never noticed all this stuff. Nevermind, it was a stupid comment.”

“What stuff?” Ryan prompted, and this time Michael was sure it was his _conscious’s_ emotion of excitement that tickled his mind. Not the fucking Freudian unconscious mind bullshit that he’d apparently been catching the waft of earlier. Michael could hit himself right now.

“Feeling stuff,” Michael hedged. “Look, nevermind –”

“No, no,” Ryan said hastily. Michael glared at him. The bastard was just satisfying his innate curiosity. He’d always been intrigued by some of the more supernatural aspects of biology. “How does it work?”

Michael grimaced. He couldn’t blame them for their curiosity–and _everyone_ was waiting excitedly for an answer–but he wasn’t feeling up to answering such a loaded question. Regardless, he scratched the back of his head as he thought up an explanation that made sense.

“Well,” he said slowly. Cautiously. “Right now it’s all muddled and a little too much, but last night, after I took the medicine, it was actually kind of nice…”

“Really?” Gavin said, looking surprised. The pill was beginning to do its job and Michael could only feel a faint pattering on the edge of his mind in response to Gavin’s apparent astonishment. His headache remained, but without the constant barraging of five other men’s thoughts against his skull, he was able to concentrate on the conversation and hopefully stop coming off as nuts.

“Nice like how?” Jack said softly, clearly eager to encourage the more positive thoughts. Michael could sympathize – the last twenty four hours or so had been absolutely nerve-wracking and filled with stress.

“Nice like happy and shit,” Michael said gruffly, feeling his cheeks heat up. Floundering slightly for a better grasp on his own words, he continued, “Like, I’m feeling your emotions as if they were mine and–and if we’re both feeling the same emotion, then it’s like they join together and get stronger.”

Jack was frowning heavily and Michael could taste his confusion. “So what’s with the headache? None of us have one, but you’ve been squinting at us since we left for the con.”

“I have no clue,” Michael said honestly. “I’m guessing that that’s purely _me_ having that problem. But I don’t know if I’m going to pick up headaches and stuff… we probably should’ve asked the doctor about that. You’d think they’d have pamphlets to give us or something.”

Ryan smirked. “ _Introducing You To Your Inner Empath,_ ” he supplied.

Everyone laughed, including Michael. It reminded him pleasantly of bubbles, oddly enough, but it was easy to infect the redhead.

“This won’t be too big of a deal,” Ray assured once they’d calmed. Michael could feel his determination to prove his words, despite the Puerto Rican not knowing if they were true yet or not. It was an odd feeling, to be determined for someone else, but it gave Michael a sense of strength. He could do this. He could _do_ this.

“No, of course not,” Jack agreed, nodding. “Nothing’s _really_ changed. You’re still you,” he said, gesturing to Michael, “and we’ll still all act the same. Nothing’s changed.”

Everyone was nodding their heads, but Michael’s gut was slowly sinking. The look in their eyes was strong, loyal. They had faith they could move past this, to break the obstacle down in front of them together and climb over the wall. Smiles graced their faces and their posture was casual as Jack’s words rang through the house, clearly confident.

But Michael was still left with an inkling of doubt that wasn’t his own.

\---

As it turned out, there _were_ pamphlets about this stuff.

Quite a lot of them, too.

He wasn’t sure whose idea it was, but he could _strangle_ them right about now. Ever since he’d mentioned perhaps wanting to more about his newfound disability–or _ability!_ as the stupid fucking print out he’d been handed encouraged–someone had taken it upon himself to provide Michael with millions of the things. After the conversation had dipped back into rather boring, mindless topics such as going back to work or talking to the employees about Michael’s empathism, they’d wandered apart, Ray hopping onto the XBox to let off some steam and Ryan going to take a nap.

Michael took a long shower, the water damn near scorching, but the burn helped clear his mind. He was alone for the first time in what felt like years and savored it, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to metaphorically unclench. Without his awareness, he’d been pinching off his consciousness in an attempt to protect it from the overpowering emotions of his lovers. He was beginning to realize that everything he received wasn’t quite as strong as his mind was leading him to believe–some of it, in fact, was from their subconscious. A fleeting notion or a passing thought could ignite something in the back of their mind, separated from their everyday mood, but it was almost impossible for Michael to distinguish the difference. All of it felt the same to him.

By the time the water began to cool, Michael was dreading having to leave. His boyfriends were being almost _too_ nice to him and it was beginning to irritate the redhead. He could feel their restraint also, though he couldn’t simply ask them to stop. Not only was he unsure if they were doing it as a conscious effort, he was starting to feel embarrassed of his sensitivity. He didn’t want them to know that he could feel pretty much _everything,_ including things that they themselves didn’t know they were feeling.

Plus his headache was beginning to come back. The pills were unpredictable, a fact that Michael was beginning to begrudge. At first, it had put him to sleep almost instantly. Now he wasn’t even sure if it would quell any of his headaches. He supposed he was just lucky he’d yet to have another ‘episode’, as Dr. West had put it.

Knowing he couldn’t stay in there forever, he resentfully turned off the water and stepped out. Toweling himself off, Michael looked at his reflection in the mirror. There were no swirls this time, only his dull, rather listless gaze. He cringed and touched his cheek. Damn–he looked like shit.

He took care of brushing his teeth and combing his hair before leaving the bathroom. Ryan was passed out on the bed, a soft snore floating out from under the sheets. Michael grinned but felt a twinge of sympathy. It’d been kind of a crappy week.

Ryan was unsurprisingly hard to read, like Geoff. While Geoff’s emotions were just confusing and hard to place a name to, Ryan’s were just… protected. He was oddly capable of blocking himself off to the redhead, though the main emotions slipped through regardless. Ryan was a little harder to be around than the others, however, because the solid, thick layer of pure stubborn restriction was painful and slightly traumatic. It hurt Michael’s head, admittedly.

But now, Ryan was sleeping, and there was no control there.

Michael crawled into bed with him, unable to resist the temptation set before him. His skin was hot from the shower and Ryan was a pleasant warmth, the cool sheets wrapping around them setting Michael’s nerves at ease. It was too easy to relax, his muscles unwinding until he was a gooey mass of comfort nestled into Ryan’s side. The blonde’s arm automatically wrapped around his waist and tugged him closer, the heat clearly welcomed.

But–no sleep.

Michael was confused and frustrated after about thirty minutes of laying there. He was undeniably cozy and snug where he was curled into Ryan, eyes drooping with sleepiness, but his mind wasn’t allowing him to fall into even a light doze. He supposed maybe it was nerves still, though he didn’t understand why Ryan’s presence wasn’t doing the trick of soothing him. As it was, he still managed to drift _just_ slightly, but it wasn’t nearly as restful as Ryan’s snooze.

It was only a nap, so around forty minutes later, Ryan stirred and sighed deeply, hand briefly tightening on Michael’s hipbone. Michael could feel his chest expand with an even bigger breath as he roused, eyes peaking open and mind animating.

Michael almost blew it with a giggle. Ryan shifted to drowsily bury his nose into Michael’s slightly damp hair, inhaling deeply. Soft currents of bliss were radiating from the blonde and soaking into Michael’s brain, leaving both of them pleasantly elated.

It was almost humorous.

Michael could feel the exact moment where Ryan registered and recognized his scent. While his physical body did not move in the slightest, his psyche seemed to withdraw as if it’d been burned, flinching away from where it’d been intertwining with Michael’s and retreating into Ryan’s stupid bubble of self-discipline. The empty space it left was quickly filled with vague annoyance and hurt, but Michael quickly tried to smother it, remembering that his emotions could also be broadcasted.

Ryan hummed. “Michael. You smell good.”

Michael laughed despite the budding headache. He fleetingly considered telling Ryan that that _hurt,_ shutting him out like that, but instead he murmured, “You feel good.”

Ryan’s other arm slithered over to curl around his middle while the other slide upwards, large, warm hand cupping Michael’s cheek. His fingers grazed the skin of Michael’s lips before moving to tilt his chin up. Leaning down, Ryan let his lips hover just millimeters from Michael’s own but didn’t move forward. He seemed to hesitate, causing Michael to frown lightly. He was still, waiting for Ryan to do something, half-expecting the blonde to pull away.

After what felt like an eternity, Ryan finally dipped down and connected their mouths, the slow gentle movement hatching a flurry of contented butterflies in his stomach.

And yet – he couldn’t tell if it was him or Ryan that suddenly felt an inkling of unease.

The blonde pulled away after a long, tender kiss, laying back to stretch against the sheets, his joints and back cracking loudly. Michael grimaced at the audible cracks and crawled out from under the bed, socked feet landing on the carpet as he jumped down. Geoff and Jack had chosen a ridiculously high bed for God knows what reason and Ray often fell off it, but they still didn’t change the height.

With the motion of him sliding off the bed, a flurry of what sounded like paper fell to the floor. Frowning, Michael crouched next to the pile of folded, multicolored papers that had landed next to him, at least twenty of the things. He picked one up and immediately flushed.

_An Empath’s Guide To Growing Up._

He snatched up a handful, face growing redder and redder.

_Little Empaths and You._

_What To Do When You’re Feeling Empathetic._

_All You Need To Know About A Growing Empath._

“What the fuck!”

\---

Michael had to fight Burnie to convince the man that _no,_ there’s no need for a company announcement and there’s _definitely_ no need for a company meeting.

His boyfriends had been quick to leave the room, allowing Michael to fend for himself, but Michael could sense Ray, Jack, and Geoff’s disagreement and Gavin and Ryan’s agreement. They didn’t involve themselves, however, and Burnie was damn near unrelenting.

“Listen,” Burnie said, holding up his hands. Michael seethed at the attempt at calming him, tired of defending himself. “I just think telling people would help. They’d know not to fuck with you –”

“No one fucks with me. I’ll be fine,” Michael argued. “Besides, they already know! Fucking Gavin can’t keep his mouth shut –”

“But not many people know what it is, Michael,” Burnie said, clearly getting frustrated. “We should clear up any misconceptions.”

While that admittedly did sound like a good idea, Michael would rather chop his fingers off than be forced to sit through a conference in which he was the topic. “Then clear them up in a different way,” Michael said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

“What about an email?” Burnie suggested after a thoughtful pause.

“Is that really better?”

“It’d just be an announcement,” Burnie said pleadingly. Michael cringed with guilt; he knew Burnie had good intentions, his wellbeing at heart, but the entire idea made his stomach shrivel with dread.

Gritting his teeth, he ground out a surly, “Fine.” He glared at Burnie’s smile. “But let me proofread it before you send it. And – don’t send it to the guys.”

“Why?” Burnie asked, frowning. Michael barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the spark of concern that brushed his mind. Burnie’s maternal instincts were ridiculous.

“Because,” Michael said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t think they need a reminder.” He looked away. “Just don’t send it to them. And, uh, Burnie?”

“Yeah?”

“This… won’t be a problem, will it?”

Burnie laughed. “Of course not, Michael,” he chuckled. Hesitating for a moment, he leaned down and glanced around the empty hallway. “Griffon was an empath, you know.”

Michael blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Very low-grade and no one knew about it, but yes,” Burnie said, smiling encouragingly. “It’s actually pretty cool – you two react to this ability much differently.”

“Right,” Michael said awkwardly, wishing this conversation was going in a different direction.

Burnie noticed his discomfort immediately. “Anyway, I’ll type up an email and forward it to you, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Michael muttered sourly. Burnie clapped him on the shoulder before walking away, leaving Michael with a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His relationship with his coworkers was curiously the only thing that hadn’t seemed to have changed. It’d been four days since they got back and two since Michael came back to work. He hadn’t been allowed out for the first two, due to his persistent, raging headache, but he had convinced the five others that the time out of the house would help.

Shockingly, it couldn’t have gone better.

The time he spent alone in the warehouse was his favorite time of the day. He hadn’t been asked to participate in any Let’s Plays and what he had to edit he just took with him to his impromptu desk. While he wasn’t exactly avoiding his boyfriends, he stayed out of their way and they didn’t approach him, giving Michael plenty of time to mull over his sudden self-doubt. With pretty much nothing else to do, it was easy for Michael to dwell over what had happened that day with Ryan while lying in bed.

Michael was a guy. He may be a feminist and he may like it up the butt once in a while – every night – but he was still both biologically and mentally male. He wasn’t quite as prone to relationship insecurities as a female might’ve been, and he knew this from experience – things that Lindsay worried about were not things that would’ve even crossed his mind as an issue. It just wasn’t the way his mind was tailored.

But even he couldn’t help stressing over this.

Ryan’s never hesitated to kiss him. _No one_ in the relationship had not wanted to kiss him, unless maybe if he’d just thrown up, but it wasn’t simply Ryan taking a pause to linger, to let his breath wash over Michael’s lips as he’s done in the past. It was honest _doubt_ for a moment, though from what Michael wasn’t sure.

And then Geoff started to do it, too.

Michael would lean forward expectantly, lips puckered slightly in preparation for one of Geoff’s speedy smoothes, and he would watch Geoff automatically dip to deliver. Just before he connected, however, a sudden branch of unease would pierce through the air and Geoff would stop not centimeters away. And he would wait for a few seconds, as if thinking about whether or not he wanted to commit to a kiss, before lurching forward to hastily press a peck to Michael’s lips.

He did it two more times in similar fashion and soon Michael stopped asking for a kiss altogether. His chest felt cold at the thought of Geoff not wanting to kiss him, and he was beginning to think that that was the case – Geoff did not make any move to engage in any affectionate activities.

Honestly, it was beginning to hurt.

It was easy to ignore, though, so Michael continued through the week with his head held high, or as high as it would go with the constant ache sprouting from the base of his neck. Being alone in the warehouse allowed him some reprieve from the storm that was the Achievement Hunter office and Dr. West had been right when he said that lovers were the worst in terms of emotional trauma; his friends, though also draining, weren’t quite as tough to be around. He could stand pain-free in their company more than a few minutes, as opposed to his boyfriends.

Michael didn’t want to admit it, but he was beginning to get nervous.

“Michael?” said a voice accompanied by a sharp stab of anxiety. He looked up from where he’d been staring at the floor and saw Gavin warily inching around the corner of the hallway, the Brit’s eyebrows heavily furrowed.

“Yeah?” Michael said, feigning a casual tone.

“What are you doing out here?” Gavin asked. “I have a video to give you to edit.”

“Okay,” Michael nodded, hesitant to walk forward. He could feel Gavin’s disquiet from all the way across the hall and was reluctant to move closer. “What game?” he asked when there was a slightly awkward pause.

“Blocks or something?” Gavin said, shrugging. He looked at Michael wordlessly, seeming to be waiting for Michael to follow him. With a grumble, Michael did.

A dull thud in time with his heartbeat started up behind his eyes when he got near Gavin. He rubbed them with annoyance, growling out, “What’s wrong with you?” when Gavin fell abnormally quiet.

Gavin side-eyed him. He probably knew it was no use to lie. “Honestly, I’m a little worried about you.”

Michael was surprised at the blunt statement. “Thanks?”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “You asked.”

“Well, calm down,” Michael said, shooting Gavin a pleading glance. “You’re sorta hurting my brain, Gav.”

“Sorry,” Gavin murmured, and he was. Gavin was an easy guy to read but a hard one to understand. It was rare the prick thought sincerely for anyone else, though since becoming his boyfriend, he’d gotten much better. He was still the most insensitive of the six and acted like a typical guy in the relationship, and he still retained some of that good ol’ Gavin charm, such as not meaning many apologies.

This one he did. Michael supposed it made sense, but it still made him regret saying the words. He wasn’t attempting to guilt-trip the Brit. “Not that much, dummy,” he lied, giving Gavin a toothy smile. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Gavin smiled, bumping shoulders in a familiar gesture of affection. Michael bumped back.

Hoping to retreat back to the warehouse as quick as possible, Michael made his business fast in the office he normally felt so at home in. Now, the floor and ceiling were coated in memories that sparked thoughts and distant flashbacks in each of the Hunters’ mind, leaving Michael scrambling to ignore the vicious, rapidly shifting emotions. To the normal eye, everything seemed completely calm and quiet. To Michael, the colors were melting off the wall and the image of each person was vibrating where he sat.

He was going to lose his mind.

After being handed the unedited footage from each, Michael turned to leave but a hand grabbing at his sleeve stopped him. Biting his lip, he glanced to see Ray looking at him, face shrouded with a schooled mask, but it was no use. No matter how much he didn’t want to, Michael could feel Ray’s apprehension thrumming against his barrier, though his eyes were surprisingly clear.

“Why don’t you try staying in here for a little while?” Ray suggested gently. Michael could feel the interest of the other Hunter’s pique, though they didn’t move from their seats. Gavin stood nervously off to the side and Michael’s stomach sank when he realized that everyone was hoping he would take the offer. If Michael wasn’t mistaken, Geoff was thinking about _ordering_ Michael to stay.

“Well, I gotta edit this,” Michael said lamely, knowing his excuse made no sense. He was desperate to go back to the cool, calm atmosphere of the warehouse.

“You still have a desk in here,” Ray pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know,” Michael sighed, rubbing his throbbing eyes. They were beginning to water, an annoying random side effect of whatever was happening to him. His hands shook as he lowered them, but none of his boyfriends noticed. The room was starting to suffocate him, his lovers’ worry and stress piling onto his own to create an unbearable amount. It made his breath catch in his lungs, his heart hammer in his chest, and his palms sweat from where they were balled up into fists. Hoping to end the conversation, “Listen, it’s not… you guys,” he said stupidly. Of course it was them. They knew that and so did Michael. “It’s just–the warehouse is quiet and stuff and it helps my headache, so – ”

“We’ll be quiet,” Gavin offered. “We aren’t recording anything.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Michael muttered, and he could feel Gavin’s understanding burst into tiny fractions of stars.

Making a dissatisfied noise, Gavin huffed and looked at Geoff beseechingly, the tattooed man having been wordlessly watching the conversation from the start.

Geoff chewed over his words for a long moment. “I think it would be a good idea,” he said slowly. Michael wasn’t surprised. “Otherwise you’re never going to build up a tolerance towards us.”

Michael bitterly realized that that was a fair point. He said nothing.

“Just sit down and spend some time with us, you donut,” Gavin said, directing Michael to his chair. The redhead allowed himself to be moved without complaint, aware that his surly silence was met with discomfort from the others. Gently pressed down until he was perched on his seat, Michael stared at his blank computer screen as Gavin sat back down at his desk. Michael had the distinct feeling that Gavin hadn’t been sent to give Michael a video to edit at all, but instead to bring the redhead back with him so they could persuade him to sit with them for a little while.

Staying true to their word, they didn’t say anything. After spending a long time mindlessly gazing at the unedited video sitting on his screen, his headache began to grow worse with each passing minute. Michael allowed his head to bow until his forehead was resting against the cool wood. Sharp stabs of pain were familiar but no less agonizing and he gritted his teeth, trying to shove them back. The pills he was taking felt like they were doing barely anything, except maybe keep him conscious.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or when he started to tightly grasp his hair in a death grip, but he almost shouted in shock when someone forcibly pried his hands from his head, manhandling him by the arms to spin in his chair until he was facing Geoff.

The other shoe fell.

Geoff’s mouth moved quickly, obviously speaking in a bit of a panicked tone, but it fell on literally deaf ears. Heartbeat skyrocketing, Michael opened his mouth to say something, say _anything_ to prove that he hadn’t just lost his hearing, that Geoff and the others – who were quickly gathering – were just playing a cruel joke on him. However, the words caught somewhere near his chest and he spent a heart-stopping moment just staring at Geoff, mouth hanging open and hands shaking where they rested on his thighs.

He’d never experienced such utter _silence._ There was absolutely nothing, not even the sound of his breathing or heartbeat. It was debilitating and unnerving, to see and process a scene before him, knowing the noises that usually accompanied it, but not hearing any of it. He watched Geoff’s face become more and more pale, and suddenly Michael’s chest seemed to cave in, along with his skull.

The vibrations of his vocal cords traveled from his throat to his chest and head, meaning that he was probably make some weird noises, and judging from the burning in his throat, it was screaming. He was fairly sure he was hunched over in his chair, fingers damn near ripping out his hairs by the roots, but he couldn’t be sure. His eyes were squeezed shut, and instead of being met with what should’ve been relieving blackness, a blinding white blaze set his eyes on fire. He could barely feel his body, skin having gone completely numb as vicious, unforgiving agony ripped through his mind. It was as if someone had enclosed his head in a bear trap and snapped it closed, allowing the sharpened, rusty teeth to plunge into the soft, pink tissue of his vulnerable brain, shattering his cranium like an eggshell. He couldn’t breathe, he could hear or see –

He was dying.

Michael was pretty sure he was dying.

In contrast to the headache that bad been plaguing him for the better part of six days, he felt no emotions, not even his own. It was just pure, unadulterated pain tearing apart his every brain cell, shredding his neurons and killing his senses. Flashes burst into vision, brilliant reds and blues and yellows, and it took Michael an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that it wasn’t a hallucination. Someone had pried his eye open; he could see the Achievement Hunter ceiling from where he was laid on the floor. Someone’s hands slid down from his eyes to cradle his face, and for a moment, all Michael could feel was the smoothness of their skin, the slight calluses on the pads of their gentle digits, the warmth and reassurance seeming to swell like a balloon just behind his nose, pushing back the empathetic episode further and further –

 – until it stopped completely.

Almost as if it’d never happened, Michael was left gasping and shivering on his back, eyes rolling wildly as he searched desperately for a familiar face in the small crowd standing above him. His pounding heart almost stopped when he realized that all he could see were familiar faces – his mind just didn’t recognize them. It took a full six seconds for his brain to kick in and supply names and identities to faces.

“Should – should I still call –?” a nervous and shaky voice asked uncertainly. It was Kara. She’d probably heard the commotion and come running.

“Hold on a second,” Geoff’s voice said before his face appeared in Michael’s blurry vision.

“Michael? Can you hear me? Do you need to go to a hospital?”

He drew in a rough, shuddery breath, the work put into swallowing more strenuous than it should’ve been. “No,” he finally managed, cringing slightly at the sting that resulted in his throat. It felt as if he’d choked down some quality sandpaper. “No, I’m okay.”

It was a tough battle against gravity to push himself into a sitting position, and he was aided by Jack a moment later when he started to struggle with the effort. His head spun but he was delighted to find that his headache was completely gone for the first time in days. He’d lost his breath completely and his ears were ringing, but he was pain-free and able to lift a hand to brush back his bangs. He felt oddly windswept.

“I think we should go to a hospital,” Gavin piped up from his left. His tan was looking near sickly with a deathly pallor, though admittedly most of the men–and woman–in the room were eerily similar. It made Michael feel as though he was in the aftermath of a horrific accident.

“I–I actually feel okay,” Michael said, the surprise in his tone mirrored on the faces of those around him. Disbelief was clear on many, and Michael could taste a trace of it in the air.

“We should still talk to Dr. West,” Geoff said, frowning. He was knelt in front of Michael, only a few inches away, and his aura was brushing up against Michael’s in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

Michael sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We don’t need to,” he insisted, though it was rather half-hearted. His energy had been sapped from him thoroughly, leaving him dizzy and weak, but his head had been granted an odd, most likely temporary, moment of peace. The emotions in the air were now crisp and writhing, loud as foghorns and demanding his attention, but they were careful not to harm him. Michael briefly wondered if his boyfriends were doing that on purpose–and he also wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of his boyfriends’ minds as separate beings.

“He mentioned a chance of brain damage,” Ray said nervously. He was standing about a foot behind Michael and the redhead could tell he was anxious about coming any closer.

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Michael huffed out, “Do I sound brain damaged to you?” At the feel of Gavin’s mind making a smart remark, he narrowed his eyes. “Shut it, Gav. Help me up.”

Geoff and Jack were oddly hesitant to comply, but soon Michael was standing, wobbly on his feet and the walls spinning as he swayed. He didn’t think, however, that he needed to go to a hospital, fairly certain that this was just another ‘episode’, albeit far more intense than anything he’d experienced yet.

“Damn,” he said breathlessly, shaking his head to clear away a portion of the fog. “That… I’m going back to the warehouse, now.”

“What?” Ray said sharply, glancing to Geoff in alarm.

“I fucking told you!” Michael snapped, frustration coloring his tone a bitter red. He could feel their emotions kick up once more and winced. “Stop feeling guilty–that’s not–ugh. Listen, assholes. I don’t have _brain damage,_ and I most definitely don’t need to go to the fucking hospital. It’s – honestly, it’s usually not that intense.” Great, now Michael was the one who felt bad. He licked his lips nervously.

“What happened?” Gavin asked, sounding plainly bewildered. Color was once more beginning to return to his tanned face, though his eyes were bright with upset.

“I don’t know,” Michael confessed. “Just an… episode, I guess.”

Geoff did not look happy. “How many of those do you get?”

_Ah, Geoff. You know me too well._

“Not many,” Michael said hastily. “And none have been like that, I promise. I think it was because I haven’t been around all of you in such a stupidly fucking small room in a while. It was just… sort of a shock.”

“How’s your head?” Jack asked softly. Michael barely noticed Kara silently leaving as the bearded man moved closer, his fingers ghosting down Michael’s arm and raising goosebumps in a thin trail down the appendage. He intertwined their fingers in a heart-warming gesture, one that made Michael’s heart skip a beat. It was an expression of love that was rarely used among the men, and to Michael it was oddly intimate. His knees felt weak.

Laughing nervously, he tried to brush it away. “It’s alright now,” he said truthfully.

“What was it before?” Gavin asked curiously.

Michael swallowed. “Hurt a bit,” he hedged. “It felt like a panic attack, actually.”

Ray grimaced and had the tact not to ask, having experienced one of the dreadful things himself. Gavin, however, had not, and rather impatiently asked, “Well, like what?”

“I thought my head had come off,” Michael said, looking at the ground. “Or that my chest had collapsed.”

Michael could feel the Brit’s discomfort at his flat reply, but oddly enough Gavin himself didn’t show any sign of being fazed. Michael distantly wondered if pretty much all of Gavin’s emotions lingered under his subconscious, but his attention was stolen by Gavin smirking lightly and saying, “It didn’t sound like your chest had collapsed to me – you were screaming like an original Rage Quit.”

Michael flushed in embarrassment, trying to force from his mind the image of himself rolling around on the floor just yelling and drooling and having a fit. Glaring at Gavin, he snapped, “I said it felt like it, dickhead. Don’t ask a question and make fun of my fucking answer.”

“What happened in here?”

Michael almost jumped with the arrival of Burnie. It was rare Michael was snuck up on these days due to his ability to fucking _feel_ people from almost three rooms away, but Burnie had managed to creep all the way up to the door and stick head in, looking flushed. His worried eyes landed on Michael and instantly narrowed.

“Michael?” he said expectantly. There was a pause in which Michael was probably supposed to explain, but the redhead stubbornly kept quiet and glared at the man. Burnie’s annoyance grew. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

He didn’t break eye contact with Michael, but the latter simply stared at him, mulling over his thoughts. Deciding on the best choice of words, he said, “I told them that I wanted to stay in the warehouse and they didn’t listen, and I may’ve freaked out a little, but everything’s fine now, so – ”

“I still think we should call Dr. West,” Jack softly added, the corner of his mouth tilting into a frown. His hand was still firmly latched onto Michael’s. Worried that his palm was beginning to sweat, Michael gently pulled away, flinching at Jack’s resounding confusion.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “But, uh, that’s not happening. It’s a waste of money and we’re just going to be told the same thing. Now that your idea was proven to be a shitty one, I’m doing mine now and going back to the warehouse. Do you want me to finish editing?”

“Unless you feel like it,” Geoff said casually, but Michael could feel his mind thrumming with displeasure, though the specific names of the negative emotions escaped him.

He was watched with disapproving eyes as he transferred the footage to a USB, shutting down his computer when he was done and turning to see Burnie and Geoff speaking in low tones, glancing furtively at him. His eyebrow ticked in annoyance. “What?”

“You can go home, if you like,” Geoff said, eyes soft. Burnie nodded in agreement.

Michael scratched the back of his head, frowning. “I think I’m good,” he said. “Day’s almost over anyway, might as well go back with Gus.”

The unhappy expression on Geoff’s face was going to become permanent if something didn’t change soon, but after seeing the pain their conjoined presence caused, he wasn’t about to argue. Nodding, Geoff said, “Okay.”

Michael left the room at a speedy pace. He was scared that if he stayed any longer, his headache would come back, and he was savoring its absence. He could sense his boyfriends’ slight dejection as he left, the feeling only disappearing once he took up residence in his pseudo-desk in the warehouse. There, it was easy to get to work on the video and he finished in record time, placing the edited file in a USB on his desk, ready to be placed in the long line of archived Let’s Plays.

“Christ,” he cursed, stretching. Back popping pleasantly, he gave a satisfied groan and stood up, grabbing the USB and taking off towards the office. He fantasized briefly about perhaps asking Lindsay to hand it to them instead of doing it himself, but that would be too cowardly. He didn’t want them to think he was avoiding them.

The path to the warehouse and the AH Office was thankfully short and today, it was rarely traveled. Everyone was busy with their own projects, leaving the hallways rather desolate. He walked with confidence that he wouldn’t have to run into anyone, knowing that it was nearing lunch. He hoped that only Gav was in there or something –

He almost didn’t hear Geoff. The door was cracked, allowing the tattooed man’s voice to bounce down the hall.

“I just don’t know, Burnie. This has suddenly gotten way out of hand.”

Michael froze, breath catching in his throat. His hand tightened, the metal of the USB digging into his palm as he stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

Burnie sounded like he was lost for words. “If there’s anything I can do…?”

“Yeah,” Geoff sighed, sounding extremely frustrating. From here, his emotions were indistinguishable, but Michael knew the man’s voice by heart. It was almost just as easy to read. “I’ll let you know. I just don’t know what to do anymore. He can’t even be around us now. Gus has to drive him home and he has to be asleep before the rest of us or else he sleeps on the couch.”

“The doctor said it would take time, Geoff.”

“It’s been days and he’s not improving. And now… me and Ryan are starting to think our theory was right.”

There was a long pause before Burnie scoffed. “You know that isn’t true, Geoff.”

“The doctor said it was a possibility,” Geoff hissed. Michael could imagine him shaking his head. “I… just don’t want anyone to be influenced.”

Michael’s heart fell.

_What?_

Geoff sighed before continuing. “And I definitely don’t want someone to be in this relationship if they’re being influenced by someone else.”

Burnie’s next statement went in one ear and out the other, Michael’s brainwaves having fallen flat. There was a loud ringing in his ears, the dawn of realization throwing him upside down and beating him with sticks. His breath was suddenly drawn in through narrow straws, lungs tightening and constricting until he was barely able to suck in air. His face drained of blood, lips feeling oddly cold as he licked them and backed up, retreating to the warehouse and practically hiding behind his desk. Head in his hands, he fought to control his rampant thoughts.

_This explains a lot._

No wonder Ryan didn’t want to kiss him. He – and Geoff apparently – thought that he was _influencing_ them. To what extent, Michael wasn’t certain. And understanding that Geoff believed that he was projecting out his feelings, Michael paled with the realization that perhaps it was true. West _did_ say it was possibility.

_‘And even broadcast our own.’_

Admittedly the sentence had bothered him slightly, but he’d never made the conscious effort to try and persuade someone with his mind alone, so he’d assumed that he wasn’t that kind of empath.

Apparently Geoff thought he was.

And now that they knew Michael could do that, that perhaps they’d been pushed into this polyamorous relationship by one of the participants, they’d taken a step back and reevaluated their feelings for him.

Apparently, they’d already come to a conclusion.

\---

After Gus dropped him off at home, Michael seriously considered going in through the window. He decided that if he were to be caught, it would raise a lot of questions Michael didn’t feel up for answering, and instead just tried silently slipping in through the front. His headache had yet to return, but he already knew that once he entered his home, it would greet him like an old friend.

Gavin didn’t say anything to him when the redhead walked by the living room. Slightly irked, Michael ignored it and continued to the kitchen, where Jack and Geoff were cooking dinner while Ray sat and watched. Michael’s mouth went dry when they noticed him immediately, detecting him before he’d entered the room.

It seemed like every hour he was proving his worst fears.

“Michael,” Jack said warmly. He held up a spoon with red sauce on it. “Want a taste?”

“Sure,” Michael said, allowing Jack to mouth feed him for a brief second. It made him smile and the sauce was delicious. “That’s really good.”

“Damn right it is,” Geoff said firmly, looking proud.

Michael laughed, the sound falling slightly flat.

“How are you feeling?” Ray asked from the kitchen counter.

Michael shrugged. “Tired, so I’m gonna hit the sack pretty early,” he answered, glancing at the clock. Dammit. Not late enough in the evening to go to bed just yet.

“This early?” Jack said, obviously surprised.

“No, I’m not ninety years old,” Michael scoffed.

Jack rolled his eyes at the redhead’s sarcastic remark and paid it no mind, instead turning to the stove and stirring a large pot. Geoff himself yawned, eyes sunken and slightly bloodshot. Michael knew the tattooed man hadn’t been sleeping well.

The difference between the household and the workplace was staggering. The small Achievement Hunter office was barely tolerable to Michael, but home had a different sort of relaxation to it. He supposed it was some subconscious feeling of comfort and security held by his lovers that allowed them to give out a low base-line of good emotions, therefore boosting Michael’s morale involuntarily. Michael had never had an attack at home, even when all of them were in the same bed sleeping. Once Michael was asleep, his mind was so exhausted and strung out that he didn’t even dream, instead just flat-out turning off and escaping the overwhelming emotions of his boyfriends.

Though, there was something that unmistakably bothered him.

Just like how Geoff and Ryan were withdrawing any outwards affection, _all_ of the Hunters were avoiding him in bed. Michael tended to steal the middle spot, absolutely in love with the heat and comfort that the others provided, but lately he’d been somehow ending up with a corner spot, and whoever happened to be next to him would turn away. Not only did he find it extremely irritating, he was resentful to admit that it was hurting his feelings.

They were turning a cold shoulder to him in more ways than one. It only further proved his growing suspicion. It also served to lower his mood.

As it was, it wasn’t rare for him to sleep on the couch. The pill’s affect on him was unpredictable. Exhaustion was more often than not a side effect, leading him to take multiple naps during the day. Usually it was on the floor of the warehouse, but if they were at home, he’d take the couch in the family room as opposed to the living room sofa or bedroom. He was never interrupted in the family room and it was fairly secluded.

However, he hated sleeping on the couch during the night, away from his lovers.

Geoff had been correct in his words to Burnie. If Michael didn’t fall asleep in the bed before the others, a splitting headache would drive him from the room. He _despised_ those nights. He always woke up so cold.

“Michael?”

“Hmm?” he said, pulling himself of out of thoughts to look up at Jack. Jack’s tone was laced with worry, a panicked vibe wafting off the bearded man. “What?”

Jack and Ray sighed with relief and Geoff visibly unclenched. “You were zoning out,” Jack told him, picking up the spoon he’d dropped on the counter.

“Sorry,” Michael said sincerely. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t try so hard,” Geoff said lightly, smiling. Michael’s heart throbbed in pain. It was Geoff who was the one to realize Michael was involuntarily manipulating them. Why was he acting the same?

Giving a rather half-assed smile, Michael yawned. “I’m gonna lie down,” he decided.

Geoff frowned. “Does your head hurt as bad?”

“No, I’m just fucking tired,” Michael said, but true to form, there was a small pounding starting up right behind his eyes. He grit his teeth.

“You should probably take one of the pills,” Jack said. His eyes widened. “Oh – and talk to Ryan.”

It was Michael’s turn to frown. “Yeah – where’s he been? I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He was in the annex helping with a technical issue,” Ray explained. “And he might be a little angry.”

“At me?” Michael asked in alarm.

“Of course not,” Geoff rolled his eyes. “He’s partially mad at Gus for distracting him all day and he’s mostly mad at us for not coming to get him.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. Ryan had had the chance to come and talk to him at any time throughout the day. Talking a deep, calming breath, Michael said, “Okay. Where is he?”

“Doing work on his laptop in the living room, I think,” Jack answered, stirring the mix in the pot before staring in and sniffing. He mumbled something to himself. Michael rolled his eyes and caught Geoff’s grin with one of his own.

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing was different.

It was just as it had been not a week ago, where Michael and Geoff shared too many inside jokes to keep track of, where Jack was the butt of a fair amount of said inside jokes, where the smiles shared were laced with humor and a barely suppressed mirth that danced around their hearts as well as their eyes. It was as if nothing had changed, the spark between them everlasting and flickering with glee.

And then Michael felt the exact same emotion mirrored back at him on a delay.

His heart seemed to wither, a heavy pit growing cold somewhere near his abdomen and causing his smile to freeze in place, the look in his eyes probably going dead. His mind was now aware that it was being hailed, communication between his and the other Hunters’ subconscious a constant stream of babbled information. Michael wondered how long that had been going on, because it certainly wasn’t this strong with Burnie and the like.

This would be the moment where he’d leave the room after touching the two in some way. Michael had mapped out his habits and interactions with the guys since he’d been exposed to the harsh truth of Geoff’s words; thinking back to how he communicated with the others, how he showed them affection or vise versa. It was startling to find that he was often the one to initiate most of the kisses or hugs or even the simplest of touches. It was _always_ him.

He left the room with the smile still frozen on his face.

\---

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan sighed, the movement of his chest shifting Michael up a few inches. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael mumbled again, the words slightly muffled by the material of Ryan’s shirt. He inhaled the familiar scent with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm; he’d gone without it for days, and he would probably for a few more, but he was planning to soak it up as much as he got while he got the chance. His arms tightened around the blonde’s shoulders and he reveled in the feel of Ryan automatically reciprocating the gesture around his waist. It felt like his bones were aching for the intimacy.

Ryan shushed him by burying his lips in the redhead’s hair, planting a solid kiss and hugging Michael closer to his body. His enjoyment of the cuddles was dampened by the feeling rolling off Ryan, unnamed but definitely negative in nature. He’d just taken his pill – shoved it down his throat in the bathroom after practically fleeing from the kitchen – and was relieved to find that it was doing its job a bit more properly now. The emotions surrounding him were still there but watered down, blurring together until it was just a blob of random urges and sensations. Most of the lines were washed away, leaving only one between good and bad.

Ryan’s was unmistakably bad, and he knew he’d already been forgiven. It was something else that was bothering the blonde.

Michael was hardly surprised at this point.

“This doesn’t hurt, does it?” Ryan asked, making no move to release him. Michael had no complaints.

“Nope,” he lied.

Ryan probably could tell that wasn’t true, but he didn’t say anything. Michael closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, sliding his legs further up the couch to get more comfortable. As an apology, he’d crawled pathetically into a very angry Ryan’s lap and wormed his hands around the other’s shoulders, nestling into his neck and cringing at the aura of frustration and rage. He’d been stewing in the anger for a while, and it took a lot of neck kisses to persuade the blonde to break from his stillness. Now Ryan wouldn’t let go, creating a rather awkward embrace as the two sat on the couch.

Michael huffed out a constipated sigh, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said again, feeling stupid and foolish; he was reluctant to admit he wasn’t just apologizing for Ryan not being there during his earlier fit. He was sorry he was like this, and he was sorry that he was actively fucking it up without knowing how to stop. He wanted this deformity to go away and he wanted the bad feeling Ryan had to not be true and he wanted everyone else to actually love him – and _dammit_.

He just wanted this all to go away.

“Sorry, Ryan,” Michael whispered.

The blonde hummed, his hand sliding up to rub his back soothingly. It did nothing to calm his nerves, however, and Michael was ready to start punching walls. Despite the craving deep in his chest for the warmth Ryan provided, Michael started to pull away. Ryan looked down at him, frowning. Michael repressed a flinch when he reached forward to brush his forehead with soft fingertips.

“It should start getting better soon,” Ryan told him gently.

Michael laughed, an underlying scathing tone going unnoticed as he moved back further, ducking out of Ryan’s reach. “Right.”

Ryan’s grimace deepened. “It should,” he insisted. “You haven’t been able to get close to me in days; it’s already getting better!”

Michael winced but bite back his refute. He’d just taken the pill and was still suffering in Ryan’s presence, though it was a diluted effect. He still shook his head, climbing off Ryan’s lap and being careful not to knee him in the groin. Ryan’s hands fell away from his waist.

“Are you eating dinner?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Michael said. “I’m really tired and not very hungry. It’s fucking good though, Jack let me have a taste test.”

As if on cue, a yell from the kitchen indicated that the food was ready. Michael could hear Gavin scrambling from the other room to get his plate first. He probably didn’t realize that Ray was already there. The sound of clinking silverware made Michael wish he was joining them, but he couldn’t stomach it right now, even if the food smelled delicious.

Michael moved out of the way as Ryan stood up. He reached forward for a moment, hand drifting forward to cop a feel of Ryan’s ass as he was accustomed to doing whenever departing with the blonde, but he hesitated not inches away before pulling back. Ryan didn’t notice, leaving the room without looking back.

His hand swung back to his side, heart stinging. “Geoff is right,” he whispered to the empty air.

Geoff was right. Michael was pushing his feelings on the five of them. That explained how he’d ended up with them in a polyamorous relationship. What was the fucking chance that he’d ended up with _all five_ of his crushes? Polyamory wasn’t exactly a common phenomenon in society these days and the odds that _all_ of his coworkers harbored feelings not only for him but for each other? He’d been ignorant to think that he’d just gotten lucky… extremely, _extremely_ lucky. It’d been a rocky road to get to where they were now and he was damn proud of how far they’d come. How hard they’d fought. How much they’d changed.

Michael hadn’t realized he’d been the one changing them.

God, he felt sick.

He walked to the bedroom with a twist in his gut, chest tight with the thick swallow he was trying to force down. It was a battle to walk in a straight line, mind spinning and oddly bloated. He couldn’t hear his own footsteps as he entered the bedroom and shut the door, tears welling in his eyes. It may’ve slammed a bit harder than necessary.

He didn’t bother with getting ready for bed, instead worming his way under the chilly sheets and wrapping himself like a burrito in them, poking his head out so he could breathe. A headache throbbed and kicked at his eyes, his vision seeming to pulse with each beat. Tears of disappointment in himself and resentment towards his genetics filled his eyes until they began to stream down his cheeks and wet the pillow case. He smushed his face into it, growling as his chest start to ache.

Love fucking sucked, and for someone technically in a successful relationship with the loves of his life, he was strangely miserable.

“Michael?” came a concerned whisper about two hours later, the sound of the door creaking open causing Michael to go still. He’d heard that same sound, whisper and creak alike, not two nights ago, when he made the mistake of dozing on his bed after playing his DS. He hadn’t said anything then, allowing the rest to slip in beside him and drive his mind crazy with their end-of-the-day-thoughts, and he didn’t say anything now.

They unraveled him from the blanket as carefully as they could, gently scooting him over so that they would fit as well. Their warm bodies pressed against him as they shifted around, the order for tonight’s sleeping arrangement a bit jumbled apparently; they switched and traded places repeatedly until finally finding the perfect position. He, of course, ended up once again in one of the outside spots. He could feel their thoughts battering at the edge of his mind, the pill thankfully blocking out most of the mayhem, but he doubted he would be able to sleep. Deciding that he would just settle for pitifully curling up against the back of whoever he was sleeping next to, he didn’t dare try wrapping his arms around him and instead pressed his forehead into the man’s neck.

He could feel when each of them fell asleep. Their consciousness would drop off the peaceful ledge one by one, falling into a doze that Michael envied with all of his being. It was oddly fascinating, especially when they started to move through sleep cycles. From his high school psychology class, he recalled the lesson concerning sleeping patterns and stages. The first few were relatively uneventful. The REM stage was where it got interesting.

Geoff was the first one to start dreaming. It was complete gibberish to Michael but he smiled weakly against the skin of his lover regardless, the sensation of Geoff’s rapidly altering emotions and mental images surprisingly not intrusive. It fluttered happily on the edges of his mind, stroking his corners and filling in the empty slots left by his broken heart. It danced around playfully, twirling and spinning and almost dizzying in its amount of energy. Michael could barely understand how this was restful.

And then the rest of them began to dream, one by one falling into the own personalized movie theater within their own mind. It was enthralling and a little uncomfortable – this was beyond personal. Stretching into invasive territory, his ‘dream-watching’, as he dubbed it while the hours went on, allowed him to experience his lovers’ thoughts through his mind’s eye as if it was theirs. Dreaming required no literacy functioning or logical reasoning, granting Michael the pleasure of essentially reading their minds.

The pill was doing a great job of controlling the amount of information going in. Though he still had a fairly obnoxious headache sinking his temples in, he was able to pick apart what he wanted to feel and what he didn’t. Some of Gavin’s dreams were a bit too dramatic for him, and Ray was a stressed out motherfucker. Ryan was creative and clever even while asleep, the images flashing behind _his_ eyes leaving Michael feeling as if he had just stepped out of dark room and into sunlight.

Jack and Geoff were shockingly similar in their dreaming patterns; both were the perfect, textbook picture of what a dream would consist of. Sporadic lines of bizarre logic and spontaneous intermissions of seemingly random pictures or emotions that didn’t quite fit the circumstance. Nothing made sense and it didn’t have to. It was wonderful.

Something crept in around four.

He couldn’t tell who it was at first. Hugging up to who’d earlier found to be Jack, he frowned into the flesh of his shoulder when something sinister shimmered near the outskirts of his mind. He’d been letting his own start to bubble out, intermingling with his lovers in such a way that left him breathless and slightly flushed. The best, most elegant way Michael could put it was this: they were totally having brain sex.

He barely noticed its presence at first. Slow and creeping in its arrival, only when his mind was abruptly assaulted with an intense wave of animosity did he realize something was amiss. His eyes opened in confusion, fear dripping cold into his veins and causing his fingers to go numb. Vision slowly adapting to the darkness, he blinked at the blurry, indistinct slope of Jack’s shoulder. The air seemed to reverberate with dread, a jittery energy seeping into room and sliding slick, chilled fingers into the contours of Michael’s mind.

Before he could even think a proper ‘ _what the fuck?’_ it lunged.

Plunging deep into the vessels of his mind, the entity seeded through his entire being until it reached his core and tore through it, shredding apart his consciousness from the inside out and ripping it in two. A horrified scream caught in this throat as goosebumps raced up and down his arms, heartbeat either stopping or speeding up – Michael couldn’t tell –

Panic welled inside of him like a blood to a wound, though why he was suddenly shaking with fear was completely unknown to him. Its source was unidentifiable, seeming to come at him from every angle and suffocating him with ease. His vision disappeared, his hearing and sense of touch going with it, and it was replaced with pure and utter despair.

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t know what was happening.

 It was in his veins, his arteries, even his fucking capillaries, it was absorbed and welcomed into his bloodstream like an old friend, infecting his lungs not milliseconds after and filling every breath with potent toxin. It rotted out his teeth and shriveled up his tongue; it popped his eyeballs and burned up his hair. It skinned him alive and left his poisoned muscles and contaminated bones to be exposed to the clean air.

He wasn’t _him_ for that long moment.

Michael Jones didn’t exist for a while. It was as simple as this: Michael wasn’t a _person._ He wasn’t human; his emotions had been defeated in a rush of terror and his thoughts were vanquished within seconds. It was almost too much to bear, mind filling up with a sudden onset of anxiety and bursting at the seams. The stitches that held his skull together exploded. His brain was splattered halfway up the wall, a gory visage of crimson paintings and curious black stains.

_What is happening?_

_God – someone help me – please –_

He could distantly feel something latch around his wrists, the shock of physical contact the only thing to reach him through the thick haze of agonized horror. The grip was tight enough to grind his bones together, but the pain grounded him, and he was able to finally pinch off that annoying whimper that had been dribbling out of his mouth, the sound oddly tense due to his clenched jaw. His lungs were working and he couldn’t find the muscles to suck in even a single breath of air. Ribs burning with the effort, he struggled in the grip of whoever was attempting to restrain him – pointless, really, since he wasn’t even thrashing or anything.

He slammed back into his body without warning.

His eyes snapped open. Sound belted him from all sides, emotions that were both his old friend and a new stranger hammering him relentlessly until it proceeded to completely break through his barrier, tearing down the wall with vigor and swarming inside.

It was different than before.

No longer something as simple as a dam breaking, the current that flowed in did not wash away the broken remnants left of Michael’s self like his brain thought it would. Instead, it cascaded into the crevices of his mind, washing through his being and cleansing him thoroughly. Refreshing like a glass of ice cold water, his mind absorbed it ecstatically, inebriated at the pure taste of his loves, filling the holes of the sediment it carried away. It was their most potent form, their character; it was their identity in genuine and their nature in authenticity. There was nothing more unique about them in that instant.

Nothing in the universe could match it.

Without knowing it, they took hold of every molecule. Gripped it by force and pulled it into halves, worming into the broken space it had created and mending it even tighter than it had been woven before. Tightened his skin, strengthened his muscles, and solidified his bones. Ate at his heart and swallowed the pieces until it was evenly divided between all six of them.

And yet – he’d never felt more complete.

He was doomed.

In his physical body, someone was jerking rather painfully on his wrists, trying to drag away the shield he’d thrown up over his eyes. It was rather useless since the attack had been psychological in nature, but he’d still fought to keep them there, unwilling to bear his eyes in vulnerability. The eyes were the window to the soul and already shared his soul with these idiots – any more and he would surely cease to exist.

He made the conscious effort to relax the muscles in his arms and there was a minute of inner peace where he drifted between consciousness and sweet blackness. He could hear some concerning noises coming from one end, however, and started to swim that way.

Someone was draped across his front. He’d been flipped on his back, sweat drenching the sheets below, but he was lifted off of the bed slightly by an arm around his neck and waist, awkwardly hefting him into the arms of Geoff Ramsey. He could tell from the scent pressed into his nose, the man’s night shirt squishing his face in what would definitely be considered a death grip. Legs on either side of his hips, his hair was being gripped tightly, almost to a painful extent, and there was a very odd sound right next to his hear, the body above his shuddering and clutching him in such a way that send Michael’s heart into spasms.

The muscles that connected the front of his chest to his arms were burning with the way that he was splayed out. His hands were clasped in tight grips on either side, preventing him from moving, but from the way Geoff was sobbing into his neck, he was beginning to understand that that was the problem. He wasn’t _moving_.

He could also feel his arms being touched, shaky fingers occasionally gliding across his skin, but the clamps on his hands didn’t loosen in the slightest. Sound was slow to fully recover, but when it did, Michael aggressively wished it hadn’t.

His headache had vanished, but the intense amount of noise still made him flinch. There was a lot of loud talking, some yelling, and Geoff was very loudly blabbering into his ear nonsensical gibberish that frankly made Michael want to shove a sock in his mouth, but once he caught a few key phrases, he felt the blood drain from his face.

“Michael, god, please, they’re on their way, just hold on, _please_ , Michael –”

“Doctor _West_! W-E-S-T. No, no – Dallas, Texas. No! No, you fucking idiot, I said _Dallas_ _,_ but we live in Austin. He’ll have Michael’s file and informa–”

Geoff’s chest collapsed against Michael’s, a sob ripping its way through his throat.

_“Please be okay.”_

Michael should really get a move on.

He didn’t bother with his hands, and instead tried to catch his breath to get a word in edge-wise. He’d never heard Geoff talk so fast before, but he must’ve felt Michael’s deep breath because not a second later, the tattoo man suddenly went silent; the perfect opportunity to tell him that Michael had indeed not just suffered from a stroke. Or hell, maybe he did, and just hadn’t realized. But at least he wasn’t dead.

He blurted out the first words that came to mind. “You’re hurting my hair, Geoff –”

The room seemed to explode all over again. If he’d had the energy, Michael would’ve rolled his eyes. Ryan was the one yelling into the phone and his voice hiked up two octaves when he told them that Michael was awake and responding. The grip on both hands was simultaneously loosened as if they realized it was hurting him, and Geoff similarly released his hair, his hand alternately skimming down to hold Michael’s head up from the back, cradling him. Michael was thankful for it – without the support, he wouldn’t even be able to raise his own head.

He was quickly finding out that he couldn’t move his muscles.

“Michael – Michael –” was all Geoff seemed to be able to say. He pulled away from the redhead to stare down at him in a mix of amazement and trepidation, as if expecting to be met with the sight of a half-decayed corpse. Michael was shocked to see that tears were rolling down Geoff’s cheeks in thick rivulets, dripping off his chin and landing on the redhead’s shirt with a soft _plat!_

A gentle thumb stroked the delicate skin under his eye. Geoff cupped the side of his face, looking awe-struck. His face was ghostly pale in the moonlight and if their roles were reversed, Michael would’ve already started to dig the grave. Hell, maybe two of ‘em.

Okay, that joke wasn’t very funny.

“Geoff,” Michael croaked and the tattooed man’s eyes could’ve melted out of their sockets with how relieved he looked. “Geoff – I’m okay –”

“Oh, god,” Geoff breathed, leaning down to unexpectedly press his forehead to Michael’s. The redhead blinked at the sudden closeness, but Geoff didn’t seem bothered by it. “Michael, you have no idea… are you okay? Can you breathe alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael exhaled, nodding. The movement made more tears fall from Geoff’s eyes, the small droplets landing on Michael’s brow. “Ugh – Geoff, can you get off? My back hurts.”

It was true. He felt as if he really had died with how he was being held, like some dramatic scene in a soap opera. He’d been completely limp in the tattooed man’s arms, allowing his body to contort to uncomfortable positions. Geoff quickly obliged and laid Michael back on the bed, the redhead sighing in relief when the tension bled out of his back muscles. His hands were also freed, but he was content with doing nothing with them, allowing the stringy appendages to lay motionless out from his sides.

Geoff pressed a hand to his forehead and held it there for a solid five count. Michael could feel his quick deliberation march through the air before he finally pulled back. He didn’t say anything as he took Michael’s face in his hands.

“Are you alright? Do you need water or –?”

“I’m okay, I’m good,” Michael said breathily. His voice was airy but clear.

“Can you understand me alright?” Geoff asked nervously.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said quickly. “No brain damage, don’t worry.” He nodded as if to reaffirm the statement. “No brain damage.”

Geoff seemed to get three times smaller with relief. “Good, good,” he said after a long, slow exhale. “I thought – _we_ thought –”

“I know, I know,” Michael babbled, shaking his head. Geoff’s hand followed the movement as he continued to cradle the right side of his face. “I’m sorry – I should’ve gone to sit on the couch. I was – I was listening to you dream.” He closed his eye, a tear of his own slipping out of its own accord.

“What?” Geoff said, bewildered.

“I had a nightmare,” someone whispered. Michael didn’t have enough energy to turn his head to see who it was, but he had a very distinct feeling that it was Ray.

The nightmare had been _Ray’s_.

“I know,” Michael said agreeably. “I know, Ray, and it sucked big time, oh my god, did it suck –”

“Michael, shh,” Geoff consoled, calming his oncoming rush of words before it could gain steam. “It’s okay, Ray’s fine, everyone’s fine, _you’re_ fine. We’re all fine, we’re all fine.”

Michael really didn’t need that much convincing, but he got the feeling that Geoff’s words weren’t exactly for him. The trembling of five other terrified souls was making the room quiver, and Michael could feel the soothing effect Geoff’s reassurance had on their minds, mending their frayed edges and beginning the process of repairing their tattered nerves. It was a pyramid effect that echoed around the room until it reached Michael, the slow serenity dripping down and infecting him as well. Ryan began to talk with a bit more patience into the phone. Gavin and Ray could breathe again. Jack unclenched his hands and the lock around Geoff’s heart eroded until it was gone completely.

“We’re all fine,” Geoff repeated, hugging Michael to his chest once more and sighing with relief.

\---

“No damage was found on the X-Rays,” the doctor said firmly, gesturing to the negative picture stuck to the lightboard. “As you can see, there are no abnormalities or black spots on any of the pictures we took. You seem to have gotten very lucky, Mr. Jones. An undiagnosed empath such as yourself is at high risk for more serious side-effects to dealing with full-blown empathetic attacks.”

“I’m not undiagnosed,” Michael muttered, picking at the fabric of his hospital gown. The thing was unbearably itchy and had been ever since he’d gotten here.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor apologized dryly. “An empath who was diagnosed six days ago.”

“That’s right,” Michael said, nodding. He was treated to a back-of-the-head slap for his rude behavior and sent Geoff a sore grin.

“As I was saying,” Doctor continued, narrowing his eyes. “There’s no brain damage. We’re going to give you a chart for the next week so you can make sure there’re no symptoms of something the scans missed, but I think he’s in the clear. Like I said: incredibly lucky.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the doctor’s smart tone. The latter ruffled through his bag for a moment before pulling out a list and handing it to Geoff, who pocketed it with a firm nod. Great. Geoff’s nose was going to be in that list for the next month.

“Are you taking your pills?” the doctor asked casually, taking his own clipboard and beginning to scribble on it.

“No,” Michael said simply.

“And why not?”

“Because I haven’t needed to,” he answered. “Headache’s gone. Nothing is… too overwhelming.”

The doctor nodded, pursing his lips. “That’s good, that’s good. Means that you’ve regulated.  Alright, I think you’re all set to be discharged. I’ll go make a copy of a discharge form and you can change into your civilian clothes.”

Michael nodded and happily slid down from the bed, bounding over to where a fresh set of clothes were waiting for him. He was very stoutly ignoring the looks being passed around the room, some incredulous and some downright annoyed. He’d been stubbornly ignoring the growing anxiety in the pit of his gut, though it was beginning to seep out of his aura; he could tell from the other men’s minds. He knew they’d noticed something was bothering him, but none of them knew what. They were also becoming frustrated that Michael wasn’t going to come out and say it himself.

In the time frame of about .03 seconds, he’d become a master at mentally reading his five boyfriends. He would’ve been proud of it, but honestly it just unsettled him.

“Michael, your shirt is on backwards,” Gavin pointed out as Michael slipped on his left shoe.

“Oh,” Michael murmured when he realized the Brit was right. “You couldn’t’ve said anything while I was putting it on, though…”

His quip was met with silence.

He shook his head to himself as he turned it around. If they were going to give him the cold shoulder, he’d just as easily give it back.

He was fairly sure how this game was going to end, but he didn’t want it to end just yet. He could already feel it rising and rising –

“Michael?”

_Dammit. Not yet._

“Yeah?” he said gruffly, turning to face the window. He wasn’t a good enough actor to completely strip his face of pain.

Here it comes.

“Is everything alright?”  Gavin asked tentatively.

“Everything’s fine,” Michael said, adding a questioning lilt to his tone. They could probably see right through it, but it was worth trying. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been weird since we got here,” Gavin said in a constricted voice. It wasn’t necessary; Michael could feel his barely suppressed annoyance. There was also a healthy dash of concern thrown in there as well. “Actually, you’ve been weird since Dallas.”

“I haven’t been weird, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael replied, faintly miffed.

“Bullshit,” Ryan finally burst. Michael was hardly surprised – Ryan had been done with him ever since he’d failed to inform him of his empathic attack at work. “You’ve been all creepy smiles and empty eyes.”

“Wow,” Michael said as he turned around, slightly shocked. “Rye-bread, that was actually really mean.”

“Oh, shut up,” Gavin said, rolling his eyes. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Michael repeated, but his tone had sobered. Even with all of his bravado, he couldn’t meet their eyes and stared at the floor, pretending to study his shoes. He’d forgotten to untie the left one and took the chance at a distraction, crouching down to tie it.

“Bullshit,” Geoff said, finally stepping up. Michael sighed.

This was the endgame.

“We can feel it bothering you, Michael,” Geoff said. After a pause, he added, “You know. We can _feel_ that something’s wrong.”

Michael’s hands shook as he worked to tie the stupid lace. Biting his trembling lower lip, he shook his head, blinking back the burn in his eyes. He’d thought long and hard about how this conversation would go and he had to admire how closely it was following the script.

“Yeah, I know,” he ground out, finally caving. “That’s the problem.”

There was a slightly stunned silence. He could tell they were heavily shocked that he’d said that, probably because he’d guessed the problem right off the bat. He knew Geoff was still uneasy about his earlier problem of Michael influencing them into the relationship; just because he’d nearly stroked out didn’t mean that the issue disappeared.

Michael liked to look at it as giving Geoff an easy out.

He stood up as in preparation of the conversation. Everyone was staring at him in varying degrees of confusion, but Geoff held his gaze without an ounce of hesitation.

“What does that mean?” he questioned bluntly. “’That’s the problem’?”

“It means that you feeling _my_ emotions is the problem,” Michael said, sighing. “I – I heard what you said, Geoff. About being influenced.”

A look of understanding dawned on the tattooed man’s face, but a fair amount of confusion lingered.

Michael cleared his throat in the sudden silence of the room. “I… I probably wasn’t aware of doing it. But – but that’s no excuse. So if you, you know… want to break up, I think that’s the best thing for everyone.”

There was silence.

Michael swallowed, the heavy astonishment rolling off in waves beginning to get to him. “I – I mean just me, of course,” he said awkwardly, staring at the tiles of the floor. “Like… I’ll leave. I’d like to continue working at Rooster Teeth, but I don’t think being in Achievement Hunter would be a good idea. I could start to influence you again or something –”

“Michael, what the _bloody hell_ are you talking about?”

He looked up, startled.

Gavin sounded _pissed._

He stormed forward, stopping mere inches from Michael’s nose, getting right in the redhead’s face and glaring into his eyes. Michael leaned back slightly but stared back, wide-eyed. The words to answer Gavin’s rhetorical question died instantly on his tongue.

“You’re worried about influencing _us_?” Gavin asked in angry disbelief. His mind was radiating a worrying amount of rage and _no –_ Michael was most definitely _not_ cowering.

“Influencing _us_?” Gavin repeated, in a louder voice. “Are you joking? What are you on about? Whatever Geoff was saying, it wasn’t _that_ –”

Michael frowned and butted in, annoyed that Gavin was speaking so harshly to him. “I’m not stupid,” Michael snapped. “I heard Geoff talking to Burnie about how he was worried people were ‘influenced into the relationship’. Given that I’m a fucking _empath_ I can connect some of the dots, even the obscure ones, thanks.”

“Guys, calm down –” Ray started to say, but was quickly cut off.

“Well, you connected them wrong now, didn’t you?” Gavin said bitingly. “Geoff wasn’t saying it like that –”

“Don’t even try to give me that bullshit,” Michael said hotly, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “You don’t have to fucking _lie,_ Grabbin. I’m not blind.” A tear rolled down his cheek but he pretended not to notice. “Ryan and Geoff don’t want to kiss me anymore,” he said bluntly, the words alone causing a bruise to form over his battered heart. “No one wants to sleep next to me in bed. _You_ don’t talk to me as much. There’s always awkward silences. I’m _always_ the one who starts to get handsy or even says I love you first. You never… hug me or grab my ass or even say good morning.”

He couldn’t stop the two small trickles of liquid from his eyes, barely managing the words through the suppressed sobs. He took a moment to gather himself before wiping his eyes and looking up.

There was a ringing silence, where Gavin simply gaped at him. Michael looked imploringly at Geoff, who was looking strangely pale.

“I’m making it easier for you,” Michael said earnestly.

Geoff looked dumbfounded. He shook his head and gave a small, sharp exhale of disbelief. “I’m so sorry.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

Geoff shook his head, an odd sorrow beginning to ooze from his being. It made Michael subconsciously pull in two different directions; one to step forward to aid his mate and another to step back to protect himself from the same fate. He was left standing dumbstruck in the middle of the room while Geoff marched up to him and wrapped large arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” Geoff said in his ear.

Michael pulled to get out of the hug, but Geoff didn’t relinquish his tight grip. Huffing and feeling his face heat up, he said, “Geoff, what the fuck – let go –”

In response to the weakly spoken demand, Geoff’s hand came up to play with Michael’s hair while pressing Michael’s cheek into his chest. The redhead’s eyes burned at the close contact, his heart calling for its lost pieces, given away willingly to the five other men in the room. He’d shut it away for the last twenty four hours, unwilling to deal with the traumatic experience, but now, he was unable to muffle its call.

“Michael, I wasn’t talking about you influencing us,” Geoff said into his hair. “I was talking about _us_ influencing _you._ ”

Michael frowned. “What? That’s – that’s not true,” he stuttered, heart stalling behind his sternum. But even as he said the words, he could feel the heavy, metallic sensation of regret stemming from Geoff’s very core.

He’d misunderstood.

He’d misunderstood completely.

“You – you don’t –” he stammered, eyes widening.

“No, of course not,” Geoff said, shaking his head. He hugged Michael closer, fingers clenched painfully over Michael’s triceps. “I never thought that. Michael – we’ve always felt this way about you. It doesn’t just suddenly one day happen because you got the special tinglies.”

Michael closed his eyes. “But everything I feel is so powerful, enhanced. What if I like… _pushed_ it onto you or something –”

Geoff’s hand smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “For something to be enhanced, it has to be there to start with,” Geoff said smartly.

“And even then,” Ryan added, popping into Michael’s vision. He was smiling softly. “I don’t think you could really affect us that much. We can… feel you, but it’s like a low-level radio wave.”

“We know what you’re feeling, but we don’t feel it,” Ray supplied.

“It’s nothing like how we affect you, Michael,” Jack said, frowning. “Watching you go through _that_ … it was like a personal hell. To watch one of us suffer alone like that.”

“As opposed to all of us suffering, which is so much better,” Gavin teased.

“We couldn’t help him,” Jack said, clearly not in the mood for joking. “We can’t just _not feel_ and he couldn’t just turn it off.”

“And if you’ve _never_ been able to turn it off…” Ray murmured. “Then it’s possible that we’ve been inadvertently putting these thoughts into your head. That’s what Geoff was referring to.”

Michael shook his head frantically. “That’s not true,” he said hastily. Looking up at Geoff, he stared him straight in the eye. “You know how fucking clueless I was before we got together. I had no idea any of you liked me.”

Geoff smirked, and a bit of the flood decreased. A heady sense of relief was taking its place, leaving Michael slightly winded. “Of course, idiot,” he said affectionately. His smile faded the longer he looked at Michael. “I promise you this, Michael,” he said seriously. “You’re not affecting us like that in any way, shape, or form. This is one-hundred percent _us._ ”

Michael frowned slightly, knowing that that wasn’t true. They each had been holding a piece of his heart for a while now. He’d been preparing himself for a break up all day; holding his breath and counting to ten during the brain scans, imagining the scenario in which this conversation would take place during the physical exam, and thinking up good excuses as to why he was eavesdropping while having his mental functions checked.

But in the end, he didn’t think he’d be able to survive without the five of them. The majority of his heart was somewhere lost in theirs, and he hoped it didn’t get harmed, but he’d never be able to just take it back.

He wasn’t sure if it really was influencing them or not. But by the way Geoff’s arms were squeezing him tight around the waist, he really hoped it wasn’t.

Indulging in a moment of weakness, Michael buried his face into the soft fabric of Geoff’s shirt. He wound his own arms around Geoff’s waist and clutched at the tattooed man’s back, trying to blink back the tears in his eyes. He’d really become a huge cry baby lately. Even so, his voice was muffled as he spoke. “So, you do love me?”

Geoff laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. He pulled Michael’s face back and gave him a kiss on the forehead, the loving gesture sending flutters deep into his stomach. His heart was pounding in tandem with Geoff’s as the older man said, “Of course, you dope. And it’s _all_ Geoff.”

Michael rolled his eyes but didn’t reply. He knew it was just _slightly_ untrue, but honestly, he didn’t feel like he wanted to tell them such a private fact. It would probably weird them out to know that they had a little Michael inside of them.

Honestly, saying it like that – it weirded Michael out a little, too.

“I love you,” Gavin said suddenly, appearing next to Geoff and not hesitating to wrap his arms around the two of them. “And it’s definitely me.”

Michael smiled and rolled his eyes, but he could indeed feel the truthfulness of this fact. Gavin was a very enthusiastic lover, both in bed and emotion-wise, even if he was a little thick sometimes. There’s wasn’t a bit that went untouched when he gave it his all.

“I love you to pieces,” Jack said, nuzzling in on Michael’s right. His big bear arms were long enough to even include Gavin on the opposite side.

“Is it all three-hundred pounds of you saying that, though?” Gavin wondered aloud. He squeaked when Jack pinched him on the back of the arm.

“Short answer is yes,” Jack said, rolling his eyes before pressing a kiss to Michael’s temple.

“Yes,” Ray hissed, practically catapulting in to the quickly growing pile. “Fucking love group hugs – and you know I love you, Michael. More than words can say.”

Michael’s chest and throat warmed at the words, the spot on his nose, too, when Ray pressed a kiss to it playfully. Ray _was_ always the romantic. He had the guts and backbone to really say the gushy stuff, and though it made Michael’s insides squirm, he loved every moment of it.

Ryan slammed into him from behind, almost knocking them over. Geoff was laughing and wheezing with the effort of keeping them all standing and the inside of the group hug was getting a little toasty. Managing to stretch over the other boys’ heads, Ryan pressed a very firm, chaste kiss to the top of Michael’s head. “I love you, you big idiot. I can’t believe _that’s_ what you were worried about. How could I not want to kiss you? I hesitated because I wanted to see if I hesitated because I wanted to see if _you_ would make the first move.”

Michael shrunk slightly in understanding. Gavin had been right – he’d connected the dots all wrong, to make a terrible picture. The picture that his boyfriends had made for him, however, made his blood practically sing, the sound of his split heart now singing in harmony.

“I was a little dumb,” he conceded, pushing his face once more into Geoff’s chest to avoid embarrassment.

There were several distinct sounds of scoffs and two sarcastic remarks, but Michael wasn’t bothered in the least. He wished he could leave the hospital like this – hell, he wished he could go through life like this. Wrapped in a nice, fucking awesome ball of love and acceptance would be the way to do it.

And while they couldn’t exactly waddle their way through the parking lot like that, they made do with holding hands.


End file.
